Bethel's Meadow (33 page)

“If we stay together and fall in love, kick my ass if I ever come home too tired to say how much I love you. Thump me hard on the head if I go a weekend without treating you to dinner, and thump me even harder if I go too long without sweeping everything off the table and laying you down upon it and making love to you like there’s no tomorrow. Just kill me if that happens, because you know what? When that happens to people, they’re dead anyway—dead as a doornail.”

Glory smiled and began to weep herself. And as she did, her eyes sparkled like diamonds and rubies, the most beautiful and precious gems a man could ever hope to discover in a woman’s loving gaze. In her eyes I saw hope, I saw the truth, I saw the future.

“You know what, Bethel Smith?” she said. She held my face firmly in her hands, making damned sure I was paying attention. “I’d never pick a rich old goat over you, not ever. If you’re penniless and can’t even afford to shave, I’ll pick up the load for you, just as long as you still love me and as long as you
keep
making love to me. Yes, we’ll have to work our asses off to make our dreams come true, but every day we have to remind each other to never let our love wither on the vine. Every day we have to love one another. That’s all the commitment I’ll ever want from you. When we make love
there is no
outside world. It’s just you and me. The rest will take care of itself. But every day you have to help me keep that fire stoked. Okay?”

“Okay, baby,” I said. “You know I will. God knows I will.”

“I will only dance with you,” she said as she pulled me closer. “You dance with the one who brung ya, right?”

“You’re damn straight. You’re my only dance partner.”

“Stand up, Bethel,” Glory said as she slid off the piano’s bench. I complied. She jumped into my arms and said, “Take me right now, Bethel Smith. Make love to me like there’s no tomorrow. Just be sure it’s love that you’re making. That’s all I’ll ever care about.”

I carried Glory to the bedroom as she tore the shirt from my back. The feeling was surreal, almost otherworldly. It was the kind of magic that my heart had always longed for. Though I could feel myself on the verge of bursting through my shorts, it wasn’t the anticipation of sex itself that had me going. No, it was the notion of
sharing
myself with this beautiful human being that stoked the fire of my passion. And though I can’t explain how I knew it, I could feel the same emotion surging through Glory. It was as if we were tuned into one another, our energy fields melding together before our bodies were to become one. As we hungrily kissed and embraced, I knew that
trust
had been established between us. A bond was soon to be formed that could never be broken. If anyone were to ever attempt to pierce our bubble, they would combust before they could lay a hand on either one of us. By the time I made it to the bedroom’s entrance with Glory still in my arms, I knew with absolute certainty that we’d be together forever, both in the now
and
the hereafter.

I lay Glory in bed and hooked my finger over the collar of her pajama top. In one quick downward swipe the buttons popped off one by one. She kicked her legs into the air and I slipped off her pajama bottoms and panties at the same time. I cupped one of her firm and pleasingly ample breasts and gently massaged it, causing her to moan in ecstasy. With my other hand I explored the warmth and wetness between her thighs, stroking her gently but steadily—she was absolutely on fire now. As I continued she began to massage me through my shorts. I felt myself grow to a size that was a bit beyond the norm.

Perhaps ten minutes later, Glory said, “Let me up, Bethel. There’s something I need to take care of for you.”

As I stood she went to her knees and removed my shorts. She gradually took me into her mouth. God Almighty, it felt so damn good as I felt every inch of me sliding between her lips and partway into her throat. She pleasured me for I don’t know how long before sensing exactly the point when I was about to let go.

Glory stood, but I immediately took her down on the bed, where I quickly got to work reciprocating the oral pleasure, tasting and teasing her as I slowly but surely sent her into a state of delightful delirium—I had no doubt of it, because I noticed her fair skin turn into the color of a delicate pink rose. After a while she began to thrust her hips, seemingly involuntarily, but I didn’t lose my position.

“Oh! My! God! Bethel! Stop! Oooooooohhhhh!”

I stopped as requested and began kissing her inner thighs, then worked my kisses up to her navel, and soon thereafter northward, stopping for a few minutes to pleasure her breasts and her erect fire-red nipples. Then I kissed her neck, then finally arrived at her quivering, expectant lips.

“Fuck me, Bethel! Oh God, fuck me!”

I felt like I had a heavy hammer between my legs. I slowly entered her, just a little bit at a time, but she wanted it all, and she wanted it now. She thrust forward and took the rest of me in.

We were now as one. Implicit in every thrust and gyration was a feeling of love, trust, acceptance, and understanding.

Never, never, never had I felt anything like this. As we continued making love, tears of joy filled my eyes. I tried not to let Glory see the tears because I didn’t want her to misunderstand. But within fifteen minutes we climaxed together, and I then saw tears in her eyes as well.

The most sacred connection had been made.

I was so thankful to God at that moment. It felt like I was heading near a place far better than the peaceful meadow I had conceptualized. No, I was heading for a place I’d not known since I was a child.

It was a place called
home
. I was almost there. . . .

…

Two hours and two mutual climaxes later, we lay together, her head on my chest. My heart was pounding at two hundred beats per minute. Man, oh man, what a thrill it had been.

But this woman that I now loved more than life itself wasn’t done brightening my life for the morning.

“Bethel,” she said, “I wanted to surprise you with this, but I can’t keep it from you until your attorney calls this afternoon.”

“Excuse me,” I said. I sat up in the bed, carefully lifting her with me. “How do you know who my lawyer is?”

She smiled and shook her head. “I didn’t know who your lawyer was, until a kind old man in Kingston, Tennessee, told me who he was.”

“What kind man?” I asked. But I already knew the answer.

“Dr. Salters,” she said. She kissed and hugged me. “He says your daughter wants to know who her father is now.”

38

“
I
’VE NEVER SEEN YOU look any happier in all the years I’ve known you,” Vernon said as we were sitting in his kitchen drinking beer. It was Friday afternoon. Glory was still back at my place relaxing and watching TV. It felt good to know someone was at home, someone who truly cared about me.

“You know where you are right now, don’t ya?” Vernon asked playfully. He was smiling brightly, clearly taking joy in witnessing my improved physical health and what he said was my readily apparent positive aura.

“Tell me,” I said. “Where am I?”

“The Wet Spot,” he answered, followed by a deep and hearty laugh.

We both laughed hysterically for two minutes. Though I knew what he meant by that, I allowed him to explain it in his own way.

“You’re in the best part of any relationship. Not only are you with someone you really, truly dig, but you have a great sexual partner to boot. I don’t have to even ask about it, because I know men all too well, and you even better. The challenge, old man, is to remain in the Wet Spot. You two have to commit to never reaching into the linen closet for a towel before you have sex. That’s what me and my baby promise each other to never do. We just love it in the Wet Spot. Once that spot dries up or disappears, so does the passion. Don’t let it happen to you, old man.”

“I’ve never been married,” I said, “so I wouldn’t know anything about laying a towel underneath my partner before intercourse.”

“Good. Keep it that way. Forsake the towel and keep it real.”

But I wasn’t at Vernon’s place to talk about wet spots. He stood, opened the fridge, and removed two more bottles of beer.

“Bethel,” he said, more as a statement than a form of address. “Since your girl is calling you by your first name now, so am I.” He handed me one of the beers and offered a paternal smile. “I always thought it was foolish of you to forsake your first name. So, Bethel, tell me all about your daughter. Tell me about Miranda.”

I told him all about my daughter and also about Glory contacting Doc Salters in Tennessee. After I finished, Vernon smiled and nodded his approval.

“I’m proud of you, old man,” he said. “I can remember a not-too-distant time ago when you would have killed anyone—and I mean anyone—who would have ever meddled in your affairs. At any rate, it is a very interesting story. Where is the little girl now?”

“She’s still in Kingston, the same town where I met her mother. Doc Salters and his wife adopted her. Her name is Miranda Salters. But my lawyer says we can easily change her last name to Smith, and that with a little legal maneuvering I can assume custody of her. All I have to do is have my DNA tested for a match. Once confirmed, just like that, and I’ll have her.”

“I see a look of doubt on your face,” Vernon said. And he was right. “Talk to me. What’s your reservation?”

I shook my head and sighed. I knew I was about to lay some excuses on Vernon that wouldn’t set well with him. “It’s a big responsibility, Vernon. I mean, it’s a huge one.”

“Hell yes, it is!” he said, slapping the table top. “That’s what parenting and fatherhood are all about. But you’re up for it, old man. You have renewed strength now, from the love given to you by your new woman. I see nothing but good things here. But tell me this: Why are they going to return the child to you so easily? I don’t get that.”

This was the part that both saddened and worried me: “The doctor’s wife is in bad health. Really bad. She’s seventy-three. She maybe has a few months to live after suffering a rather severe heart attack. And lovely old Doc Salters . . . Well, he’s seventy-five now. I talked to him just two hours ago. He says as much as he loves the girl, he thinks it’s time for me to claim full responsibility and, as he says, to finish what I started. He says that though he always loved her as his own child, he prepared himself for the day when he knew I would return for her.”

Vernon nodded. “Sounds reasonable to me. Okay, this all sets up nicely for both you and the little girl. Did you get a picture of her? I mean, a different one besides the one you’ve kept in your wallet for all these years?”

“Nope. I told the doctor I wanted to wait until I got there and met up with her in person. To me that will somehow make it more . . . 
special
.”

“But also more difficult,” Vernon noted. “You’re scared of how she’ll react to you, which is perfectly understandable. But I take it they never hid the fact from her that she was adopted?”

“No, they didn’t.”

“Okay. Well, I guess this changes some things. Things that I guess I need to know about, being how it is that you are in my employ. You’re either here because you want time off, or because you’re leaving Orlando. Which is it, my friend? What are you going to do?”

“I’m going up there at some point,” I said. “I’m going to try and talk to her and see if I’m someone she wants to spend the rest of her childhood with. But I’m not going until Mrs. Salters passes. I have to show some respect there.”

“Oh, but you have to take her,” Vernon said firmly. “It is your moral obligation. Her adoptive mother is dying, and seventy-five is too old for a man to raise a young lady by himself. You’re it, old man. You have to make it work. You can’t subject little Miranda to the crapshoot it would be if they found other parents for her.”

“No,” I said. “She’s ten years old right now, old enough to decide the issue for herself. If she gets a creepy feeling about me, she can always find other, loving parents that—”

“Whoa! Stop it with this bullshit,” Vernon commanded. “You’re either going up there or you’re not. Don’t do that to that little girl. She’s your blood, Bethel. Ain’t no denying that.”

“I’m going to do right by her,” I said. “I really am. Whatever happens, she’ll be taken care of for as long as I live, and afterward. But I have to make it her decision. I just can’t go up there and order her to come live with me. If, after spending a little time together, she decides she wants me to be her father, and I mean her father for real, then I’ll work fast and hard to make it happen. If she wants me back, she gets to pick where she wants to live. I imagine she probably has a lot of friends in that lovely, friendly little town.”

Vernon nodded. He seemed a little more amenable to my plan. “Okay, old man. But tell me this: If you move to Tennessee, will you open a branch of our computer business up there for me? The Knoxville area could be a good market for us.”

I shook my head. I’d decided my days as a computer technician were coming to an end. I didn’t know how to break it to him.

“I have something else in mind,” I said. “Something you can help with, and I’ll pay you for your expertise.”

“Okay, Bethel. I don’t like losing you. But you know I’ll help with anything. What’s your proposition?”