Fathers Day Roast
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"Little" SisterChapter 15: Roast Turkey free porn video
Sheila asked me to come home for Thanksgiving dinner. I sent my things ahead. Tuesday after class I drove down in Shadow, to find the whole house had been rearranged. In many ways, it was as much of a shock as my time before the wedding. I was lucky to have an established bedroom, because George's room now belonged to Christine. Next to it, in what had once been Great-gran Sparks' room, was the nursery.
The whole third floor was again ready for occupation, with three rooms taken. One was by an Amish widow, Mother Lapp, who served as the cook and was unofficial head of all things Amish. At opposite ends of the hall were the men's and women's quarters. So far only two girls and three men. The girls were cleaning and laundry staff. The men were working on Sean's yacht, though that project was nearing completion.
Sean and Sheila still lived in the new wing. Sheila confessed that she did not want to give up some of the modern niceties. Sean said it was just his computerized shower. Sheila conceded a point without agreeing. I could see both sides. In addition to the bath, the bedroom was just up the hall from the private gym and their home office suite. Since Sheila was close to the end of her second trimester, it mattered that there were no stairs.
Sheila herself was a major shock. I had grown used to her being impossibly thin. Twenty-five weeks into a pregnancy, Sheila's middle had expanded to match the size of her breasts. At first glance, she looked slightly overweight, rather like I used to look. It was a shock to see her with a "normal" profile, though she still moved like no one I have ever seen. The other shock came at dinner, when she ate more than I did—then had dessert.
Avocado, lime, ginger sorbet did not sound particularly appealing. When I asked if it was a pregnancy craving, Sheila introduced me to her nutritionist, Loren Smith. He was out for a weekly weigh-in and profile. He told me that Sheila was one of his more challenging clients, partly because morning sickness and her eating habits combined to make weight gain difficult. Avocados had been a key. Sheila loved them and they were loaded with healthy fats. Mother Lapp quickly developed a range of ways to serve them, including as a sweet.
Francine was also pregnant, though about a month less far along. She called. Francine and Sheila constantly texted about their progress, but the weekly weigh in was the occasion for an actual call. Sheila brought me into a three way. Francine, as always, was in full educational mode. I learned more about having a child in ten minutes than I wanted to know, though the information might prove useful at some point.
As it turned out, we had found one thing that would slow Francine down. After a mere twenty minutes, she was yawning regularly. Sheila was also flagging, though not as much. From Francine's monologue I learned that both of them were having difficulty metabolizing enough iron. While her tiny size was not causing problems, Francine had other issues. It was a good thing she was rich enough to stay home, because her last few weeks might be in bed.
We said our goodbyes, then Sheila hugged me before she went to join Sean. As she left, she said that Christine had missed her blanket. I thought nothing of it, until my bedroom door opened that night. Christine crawled in and snuggled back into my belly. I could understand missing this. Nor was that everything. I had almost forgotten how much I liked having a wake-up call.
Wednesday was so much different from my routine, that I almost felt relaxed. Christine woke me up. We played chase and tickle until I had worked up a sweat. Showering was a different sort of fun. Then we had juice, coffee and biscuits in the little kitchen. It was a good way to start the day, but we had to get dressed and go be grownups. That proved both interesting and unexpected.
I had gotten out of the habit of wearing the corset. When I closed the busks, it was surprisingly easy. While not paying attention, I had lost weight. Perhaps it was the workouts. Perhaps I developed new habits during the month or two I did wear it daily. Perhaps it was because of my better self image. Christine merely nodded and ran her hands down my sides. I shivered at the contact. It may have been the most erotic thing of the morning.
The day continued at a leisurely pace. Christine showed me her room and the nursery. There was a reference shelf three feet long. It covered pregnancy, newborn care, infant care, adolescent care, nanny law, poison treatment and first aid for children, cradle teaching, baby and child psychology and yoga. I asked about the last one. Christine said, "Sharon." That explained it. Sharon was a yoga instructor, whom Sheila trusted with her fitness clients. If Sheila trusted someone, so did Christine. Hell, so did I.
On the subject of Sheila's clients, I had several messages requesting Dr. Richards' services. I wondered how Sheila and Richard would take my accepting a session. I asked Christine. She equivocated with her hand. Either she was unsure or there would be mixed reaction. I made a mental note to check. Then I spied a certificate.
Christine was registered as an "In Home Child Care Specialist" with a well-known nanny placement service. I glanced at her. Christine tried to wave it off, but I could tell she was proud. I would have to look into this for my thesis. Basic nanny was a job with few legal hurdles. References were more difficult. I gave Christine a hug and told her I was proud.
From there we went into the guts of the renovations. The old house had over fifty rooms. Installing forced air heat and cooling was impractical. A storage room had been converted to a boiler room, which heated the big first floor rooms. Outside were several compressors. The old brick flues and chimneys held an insert. On one side was a double wall vent for the gas room heaters. On the other side was a line for liquid coolant. The exchanger, which looks like the vent of a window AC, was mounted above the fireplace mantel and covered by a decorative screen.
Next to the boiler room was the new laundry. I found our two Amish girls folding sheets. They both recognized me from the wedding. They curtsied and refused to look up. Lord Jesus, had I been that high and mighty? I asked them their names—Miriam Lapp and Sarah Beiler. The older woman that served as cook and chaperone was also named Lapp. I learned that she was an aunt to both girls, but had no surviving children of her own. On that sobering information, I thanked the girls and went outside.
The yard was another jolt. Just having the merry-go-round missing was discordant, but the real change was in activity. There were no crowds of workers. For that week, the yard was my personal demesne. Now, it was just winter-brown grass. Still, some things were left. During the wedding party, we had an area for child care. That had been formalized into a fenced playground.
One of my small contributions to the party was seating. I had ordered dozens of bench kits. Many of them were set near the sand box, swing set, jungle gym and under shade trees. Off to one side was what appeared to be a dog park, which was a nice touch. Nearby were two croquet courses, one flat and one hilly. Further on I expected to find horseshoe and bocce lines. Closer up was a basketball goal and a new shed. I suspected it was where the balls and equipment now lived.
Looking it over, I recognized the basic plan from in May. Some things were moved. Others were new, but the layout was familiar, only it now centered on the playground. It gave me a nice sense of continuity, but one thing was missing—a play house. I knew where to find carpenters. The noise from the boathouse had been nonstop.
Going inside, I could see why. Sean's yacht, The Other Shoe, was nearing completion. From what I could tell, there seemed to be a rush to finish something. Presently, Clayton Roberts, aka CR, came over. He was the man in charge of getting the yacht float worthy. I suspected he was well beyond that point.
He said, "Miss Jo. Ye're looking fine. What can CR do for ye?"
I answered, "How's she doing. She looks fit enough, though I have no eye for such things. This seems a lot of activity for this late in the day."
CR snorted. "Right ye are. She be fit as they come. She'll test out right enough, but the finish wood is another story. The cabinetry is a work of beauty, but that makes fixin' slow goin'. These Amish folk knows their stuff, but ... You, of anyone, knows about deadlines. I never saw such a work as you pulled together. Mr. Sean wants her to sail this week. I was hoping for the holiday. Then it was Friday. Now I'm thinking Saturday.
Why didn't he just ask for permission? Sometimes it's easier to ask forgiveness. "CR, you should not try these tricks on me. I know Sean is busy, but he would make time for this. Plan on having her wet right after Thanksgiving dinner. Organize everything you cannot finish into one job. That, you set aside. Pull those people to help finish the rest. Any man that knows boats, knows the work is never done. Can you do that?"
CR looked a little shocked, but he nodded. "Aye. That I can do, and make her look good with the cabinets closed. I'll make a list of unfinished things for Mr. Sean. Mostly it's the closet in the captain's cabin. We tears it all out to replace a tension beam. Ye're right. Any boatman would know it be a big job, but one that needed doin'. Thank ye. I can see why the help thinks so highly of ye."
I was taken aback. Christine was grinning ear to ear, the scamp. We went back in through the ballroom. This was not an area that had many visible changes, though the lighting was up to modern standards. I wanted to see the kitchen. There the changes were quietly dramatic. The cabinets and stone counter tops remained, but everything else was new.
Professional grade ranges and ovens were the most obvious. What had been an outside door was now walk through refrigeration. The dish sinks were gone, replaced by a door into a dish washing room. A muscular bread kneading machine was in one corner. An ice cream freezer was in another. It was all spotlessly clean and empty. I could see that this was the entertaining kitchen. That said interesting things about future chef competitions.
Just as I was about to go through the rabbit hole, to the new house, Sheila came through. It was ten AM, but she looked wiped out. I had to ask, "Morning sickness?" Sheila nodded and waved me through. I followed her back to the music room. Soft piano music was playing. Sheila sat next to a cup of colored ice cubes and stuck one in her mouth. It had to be Gatorade, or something like it. Nice trick. Cold liquids stay down better.
Sheila said, "Most days are not this bad. I need a favor. I was supposed to meet someone at the airport. They understand Sean will be tied up. Barbara's a nurse. Just tell her what I look like. She'll explain it to her husband, Don. These are good people, but plain. I do not want to send a limo to pick them up. Since I cannot go, it would good if it was family." It had been such a slow day.
Elspeth was driving down. The trip is about five hours from Boston, on a good traffic day. I text her that I was going to the airport and would not be able to greet her at the Residence. A few minutes later, I realized I had adopted Sheila's name for my childhood home. As Spock would say, interesting.
We have a functional regional airport, but a surprising number of people prefer to use the hub airports in Philadelphia, Newark and New York. Silly, but true. Sean, unfortunately is one of those. He had booked the Micellis into Philadelphia. I climbed in the back of Sean's Mercedes and tried to ignore traffic for an hour. It was not easy, but Dr. Richards could cope with small distractions.
About three-quarters of the way there, my text message ringtone sounded. Sheila said there were three to pick up. The third was Kiku Toda. That seemed a coincidence, until I noticed that she was an airline employee. Sheila's messages need to be parsed like statutory language—every word matters. I wondered if the Micellis even knew Ms. Toda existed. Then I remembered Sean's comment on competent people—they ask difficult questions.
I started by assuming Ms. Toda (she had to hate her surname) was competent. I picked up the Micellis and took them to baggage claim. Don Micelli reeked of military on unfamiliar turf. Barbara Micelli gave off supportive military wife, but also other things. Interesting. She was the one to talk to.
I said, "Hello. I'm Siobhan, but you can call me Jo. Sheila sends her regrets. She has a bad case of morning sickness. If I understand correctly, you know more about that than most. Sean, as you know, is buried in the office. I'm his little sister. Since neither of them could make it, they sent me. Don, you can call me Dr. Richards. It might be easier." I was not Sheila, but I tried to cram everything in.
The reaction was gratifying. Don stared a moment, then relaxed. Barbara watched Don, then relaxed. I was picking up more than the usual husband-is-in-control vibe. Barbara was demure, though not on Christine's level. She was going to love me. Don, clearly, was already fixated on Sean. We could make this work. That was when Kiku introduced herself.
Sean has good taste in people. Sheila has good taste. It can be a fine distinction, but there it was. Kiku was a Sheila person, though Sean would approve. For me, damn Skippy. I wanted to take Kiku somewhere and investigate her toenails and everything above them. Wow. It took a conscious effort to reign in my libido, but Dr. Richards does not lack for control. Instead, I introduced her to Don and Barbara Micelli.
The ride home was stressful. I put Kiku in the front and sat with the Micellis, sitting next to Don. This was entirely necessary. Kiku needed to be as far from me as possible. Barbara needed to be on the other side of her husband. Heaven help us if we were unchaperoned. I might eat them both. What would I say to Elspeth?
Still, a tense ride is only a tense ride. In a reasonable time, Russell was turning into our drive. At the motor pool, we met Sheila, looking much the worse for wear. Barbara ran to her, relieving me of that burden. That left Ms. Toda, who showed patience worthy of Christine. As if on cue, Christine appeared with refreshments. This was the garage. Why serve refreshments here?
Latisha
- 22.03.2022
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