Pastro John Visits School Teacher
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Past LivesChapter 24 free porn video
At first, the logistics for Christmas Eve appeared impossible, mostly because of the number of gifts that needed to be delivered, but Mary took charge, divvied up the gift giving, and made the day manageable.
Grace delivered the paintings to Desmond, our stockbroker, our accountant, the executor of Mom and Dad's estate, and her writing tutor, as well as a number of personal gifts to others from her only. Mary handled the shipping for the nine out-of-town gifts and volunteered to deliver Deanna's gift from the three of us. Like Grace, Mary also had some personal gifts to deliver.
I had it easy. I delivered Rubin Perez and Tom Hagar's gifts to James. I didn't know their real names, let alone where they lived. James also took my gift for Newt and promised that the gifts would be delivered to everyone.
His narrow eyes widened when he tore the wrapping off his gift from me. He quickly composed himself, though, and bowed in the Chinese fashion.
"This humble servant thanks you," he said in Cantonese.
"There," he said in English and pointed. "Over the mantle." He removed the framed print hanging in that place and strode away with it. "I'll get a hammer and two hangers," he said as he left the room.
Five minutes later, his new painting graced his mantle.
"Perfect," he said. He turned to me. "I have ordered your gift. It will arrive one day next week."
I nodded.
"I'm not giving you the gift because you gave me that painting, Brent. I'm giving it to you because while searching for a gift for Grace, I ran across the perfect gift for you, and I couldn't resist buying it. At the same time, I appreciated what you said about the season for giving. Giving is truly more rewarding than receiving."
"Yep," I said with a grin.
"Your gift is a 19th Century Yixing teapot." He said in Cantonese. "To actually brew tea in the artifact would be criminal, so the courier will also deliver a contemporary Yixing teapot and cups, as well as the first installment of a year's supply of Yé tea. Are you familiar with Yé tea?"
"Yes," I said, switching to Cantonese, as well. "It was a favorite of mine when I lived as Fang Hong. It's a green tea made only from young buds and leaves." I bowed in the Chinese manner, and then grinned, gave his back a friendly slap and said in English, "Perfect!"
"The same courier will be delivering Grace's vase, but that's a post-Christmas surprise, Brent. The first batch of fresh-cut flowers will be delivered this afternoon in an ordinary crystal vase."
I wondered, but didn't ask, what kind of vase the courier would deliver for Grace. Surely, James didn't take my suggestion of a Ming vase seriously.
At my next stop, Bill and Janice Evanston loved the watercolor I painted for him. Janice even recognized that the male figure standing at the bow of Sweet Rose was her son.
The face wasn't rendered in detail. That isn't possible with watercolors at the scale of the painting I'd done, so I asked her how she knew.
"The body shape, the posture," she said. "It's Billy. It couldn't be anyone but Billy."
Bill had gifts for Grace, Mary, Agnes and me. I opened his gift to me: a set of fine watercolor brushes. "Perfect," I said. "My watercolor brushes have had it. These new brushes are sorely needed." Which was true. I'm hard on brushes.
I took Grace, Mary and Agnes's gifts away with me, saving him a delivery.
My gift surprised Frazier. "Hey," I said, "you gave me my start, Gary. This is my way of saying thank you and wishing you a merry Christmas."
"I don't have a gift for you."
"You gave me your gift when you took a chance on a sixteen-year-old boy," I said.
Tears misted his eyes. He pursed his lips and said, "I won't sell it. Before this painting, I had two other pieces of art I'd never sell. Now I have three."
"Hang it with a sold sticker for our next opening," I said.
"I shall."
I pushed out my hand. He took it and pulled me into a manly hug.
"Thanks, Brent."
As I was driving away from Frazier's Scottsdale gallery, my cell phone rang.
"Meet me at your studio," Agnes said when I answered the call.
"Great minds, etcetera," I said. "I was just about to call you. I'm fifteen minutes away."
"Fine. I'll quaff wine while I wait."
I hit nothing but green lights and made it in ten. Just after bustling into my studio, I stopped dead in my tracks. Protein #7 stood tall situated in the ideal place on my studio floor, its beauty marred by a large, red bow.
"Merry Christmas, friend," Agnes said.
I looked up at the sound of her voice. She was leaning on the loft railing.
"A goodly portion of that piece is yours," she said. "You did the anvil work on every forged element in it. It has your name on it as well as mine."
"Uh-uh, you were the artist. I was merely a tool." My eyes returned to the metal sculpture. It was my favorite of all of Agnes's work. It was also the large piece that we'd showcased for Katrina when she previewed the Santa Fe show.
I turned to the sounds Agnes made as she stepped onto the studio floor and held out my arms. She moved into them. "Thank you, Agnes. You couldn't have given me a more perfect gift."
Her strong arms held me tight. "I love you, Brent Carson."
I said nothing, but then I understood. "And I love you, Agnes Porter. You are a cherished friend."
She leaned back and gave me a quick kiss on my lips.
"That poorly wrapped package leaning against the wall behind you is your gift from me," I said.
She spun out of my arms and attacked the wrapping paper, tearing it away like a child on Christmas morning. She squealed with joy as the painting came into view. Her head twisted toward me, and then back to the painting. "That's your best work ever!" she exclaimed. "You're giving it to me?"
"A best friend should get my best work," I said.
She shook her red mane. Tears welled in her eyes, and she wrapped me in her strong arms again.
Grace's car wasn't in the garage when I parked my pickup, which didn't surprise me. She had more gifts to deliver than Mary and me. I looked around the house. Grace had dug out Mom's Christmas decorations, freshened them, and placed them with care. Dad wasn't into decorating the exterior of the house; so except for a wreath on the front door, all the decorations were inside. I chuckled when I remembered Dad telling friends and business acquaintances he was inviting to a Christmas party that his house was easy to find. "It's the only house on the block that isn't lit up like a Christmas tree."
Our Christmas tree was fake, but a good fake, and I'd helped Grace and Mary decorate it. Little Bundle helped, too. Gifts were scattered around its base. Most of the packages had Joy's name on them.
Because the baby girl would celebrate the holiday with us, we turned Christmas morning over to the child. Tonight, Mary, Grace and I would exchange gifts, and then play Santa, putting out the toys from the jolly old fellow for Joy to discover the next morning. I don't know what Grace or Mary bought for Little Bundle, but I'd gone overboard. She was about to be spoiled rotten.
I'd had a personal debate about Grace's presence when I gave Mary the engagement ring and asked her to be my wife. I'd also considered waiting until New Year's Eve so Mary would have the memories of a romantic evening associated with her promise to be my wife instead of a Christmas gift exchange, but for some reason, Grace's presence for the proposal was important to me.
I turned to sounds at the front door, and Mary came in. She set Little Bundle on the floor, and the baby girl spied me.
"Bent!" she cried as she ran to me. She'd learned to walk, and then run. Now, she ran everywhere, forsaking walking almost completely. Just watching her made me tired. She could also say my name correctly. I'd taught her the "R" sound associated with the "B" and the "E," but she was a lazy talker. Either that or she preferred Bent to Brent. I looked forward to the day she'd call me Daddy.
I gathered her into my arms. She squeezed my neck and gave me a wet kiss, and then wanted me to put her down again.
"UPS was a zoo," Mary huffed as she removed her coat and scarf. She wore a sweater and blue jeans tucked into high black boots. Her black hair shined and shimmered from the lights on the tree. As usual, the look of her made my heart sing.
"I bet," I said. "Did you see Deanna?"
Mary kissed me and said, "Yes, and I have news you won't believe. Make me a cup of tea. I'll get Little Bundle unbundled and tell you all about it."
The teapot was whistling when Mary and Joy walked into the kitchen; that is, Mary walked and Little Bundle ran.
"Cocoa," Joy said.
I looked at Mary. She nodded and put Joy in her high chair. I poured hot water over tea bags and added hot chocolate mix to the water in Joy's sipper-cup.
"This is hot," I warned Joy when I set the cup on the high chair tray. She nodded. She'd burnt her tongue before and had learned that lesson. Little Bundle, I'd noticed, was a quick study.
I sat with Mary. The news had to be huge. Mary could barely contain herself.
"Deanna's pregnant," Mary said.
"What?" My shout frightened Joy. I patted her hand and smiled at her to let her know all was well, but was it? Grace would be devastated. I'd met with James earlier. Why hadn't he said something? He'd talked about my gift and his gift for Grace as if nothing had changed.
"Does James know?" I asked Mary.
"I don't know," she said. "James isn't the father. Joy, you can drink your cocoa now."
Joy picked up the cup and sipped. "Too hot," she said and put it down.
"What about Grace? Does Grace know?" I asked.
Mary sipped her tea. "No. Grace and Deanna haven't spoken to each other since the morning Deanna surprised all of us by showing up here for sunrise tai chi. Wasn't that morning sometime during the first week in October?"
"Yeah, I think so. I thought Grace and Deanna wanted to remain friends," I said.
Mary gave me a look that let me know I was a certified imbecile. "That was just talk, Brent."
"I don't understand. If James isn't the father, who is? And how far along is Deanna's pregnancy? Is she keeping the baby? Is she going to marry the father? What about Deanna and James?"
Mary chuckled. "You're as full of questions as I was. Here's what I know. Deanna's just shy of two months pregnant. I don't know the father's name. I asked, but Deanna refused to name him, and she isn't marrying him. But she's definitely keeping the baby. She's in a heavy relationship with a woman named Glenna Kepler. I met her. She's living with Deanna, and they plan to raise the baby together. I didn't ask Deanna if she'd told James. That was my assumption, but because James just arrived back in Phoenix the day before yesterday, I could be wrong about that. James's name didn't come up, except when I asked Deanna if James was the father."
"Hoo boy! Grace is going to... I don't know what she'll do." I heard the sound of the garage door going up. "But we'll soon know," I added with trepidation.
"What?" Grace looked like I'd just struck her with a smith's hammer.
"Deanna's pregnant," I said, repeating myself.
Mary jumped into the conversation and filled Grace in on what Mary knew.
"Does James know?" Grace asked.
"That was my assumption," Mary said. "But..."
"I delivered my gift to James this morning. If he knew, he said nothing to me about it," I said.
Grace pushed all the air from her lungs. "This is a shocker," she muttered. "I need more information." She dug in her purse for her cell phone and dialed.
"Deanna, please," my sister said and waited. "Deanna, it's Grace. I understand congratulations are in order... I know you've wanted a child. I'm happy for you. Does James know?... I see. If James isn't the father, who is?... I don't think so, Deanna. I called to congratulate you... Merry Christmas to you, too. Goodbye."
She closed her cell phone and laid it on the table. "James doesn't know. Deanna plans to tell him tonight. She didn't say, but she also plans to introduce James to... what's her name, her new lover?"
"Glenna Kepler," Mary said.
"Yeah, her. I don't like this. Not one little bit. James..." Tears welled in her eyes. "James is supposed to spent the night with Deanna. I understood that, but..." She sniffed and brushed away the tears from the corners of her eyes with her fingers.
The doorbell rang. "I'll get it," I said.
The man at the door was delivering the first batch of fresh-cut flowers for Grace from James. I tipped deliveryman and carried the flower arrangement to the kitchen table.
"They're for you," I said to my sister. She'd composed herself while I answered the door.
Grace removed the card and read it. With a strangled sob, she tore the card in half. "I can't do this anymore. I can't! I just can't!" She jumped up, toppling her chair, which crashed to the floor as she dashed away.
Little Bundle started to cry. Mary gave me a questioning look as she took the baby out of the high chair. Joy stopped crying immediately.
"The flowers are from James. He asked me for suggestions for a gift for Grace. I showed him the rendering for the entry in our dream house. Bill painted a table with a vase of cut flowers in that rendering. This is Grace's gift: fresh-cut flowers every week for a year. Plus, a courier is delivering a special vase next week. The special vase is a surprise, Mary. Don't ruin it." I sighed. "What a mess."
And I'd aggravate the mess when I proposed to Mary later. Not good.
"I'll go talk with her," Mary said and handed me the baby. Joy fussed. She wanted her mother, but Mary ignored the baby and hurried away.
Joy looked at me and smiled. "Turncoat," I muttered and tickled her chin. With the baby on my lap, I picked up the two halves of the note. It read: Pretty posies for a pretty lady. I love you, Grace.
I recognized the signature. James had signed the card personally, but the card didn't explain the extent of the gift. James probably planned to explain in person later.
Joy wanted down. I put her back in her high chair. "Drink your cocoa," I said.
"Cheese," she said.
I snickered. Oh, to be clueless again, like Little Bundle. I checked the refrigerator and found a brick of cheddar. I cut off three small slices for the baby and one for myself, which I promptly popped into my mouth.
"Milk," Joy said.
"How about a please, young lady?" I said.
"Pease," she said and grinned.
I poured some milk in a new sipper-cup and gave it to her along with the sliced cheese.
Mary walked back into the kitchen and slumped on a chair. "If James spends the night with Deanna and Glenna, Grace will end her relationship with him," she said and gave me a hard look. "We're enjoined from calling him," she added.
I nodded.
"She knows you. She told me to tell you that she'll never forgive you if you warn James."
"I hear you," I said.
Grace recovered quickly. She'd made a decision, and she'd placed the responsibility with what happened solely with how James reacted to Deanna's threesome offer, which to my mind wasn't playing fair.
"I've been a woman, Grace," I said. "So, I understand your point of view. But I've spent more time as a man, and I've got to tell you that what you're doing is wrong. Women expect men to be sensitive to their emotions. That's fine. But expecting them to read minds is going too far."
"I agree," Grace said. "But that's not what I'm doing. I wish I could call him and give him an ultimatum. I can't. I promised Deanna, and I made a personal promise that I wouldn't try to take James away from her. An ultimatum would cross that line. I'm damned if I do, and damned if I don't."
Her eyes drifted to the humongous bouquet of flowers James had given her. They needed an explanation. Right or wrong, I decided to provide the reasoning behind the flowers.
When I finished the explanation, Grace said, "That's dumb. What's our construction time, Brent?"
"Nine months."
"Plus two months to furnish the house before we move in," Grace said.
I'm slow but I'm not stupid. "Which means that the fresh-cut flowers will only sit on the table in the grand entry in our new house for one month."
Condescendingly, my sister patted my cheek. "Yep. Still, your heart was in the right place, little brother."
"Argh," I snorted.
"But the problem is easily remedied," Mary said. "Defer the next 51 deliveries and start them again the week we move into the house. It's a wonderful gift, Grace."
Tears misted in Grace's eyes. "Yes it is." She leaned and brushed my lips with hers. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Thank James." The situation was spiraling into a tangled mess. Now Grace associated the gift with me, not James. Not my intent, dammit.
"I will," Grace said, "if he walks away from Deanna's setup."
"What will you do if he doesn't? Return the gift?" I said.
Grace's smile reminded me of my mother's expressions when I would say something incredibly stupid. "Never mind," I grumped.
Grace and Mary laughed.
"Gift giving is difficult," I mumbled. "Maybe something else I have planned will end up as thoughtless as cut flowers a year before they're needed."
Grace glared at me. "Don't change any plans on my account."
She'd assumed I was referring to Mary's engagement ring, and I was, but there was more. "I've reinstated an abandoned tradition that Mom and Dad initiated to teach us the spirit of giving, Grace," I said and turned to Mary. "For a number of years when Grace and I were young, Mom and Dad would select a needy family and deliver food and gifts to the family on Christmas Eve. The first three years worked out great, and then..."
Grace laughed. "The man of the house took umbrage and told us to get out and take our junk with us, that he and his family didn't need our goddamned charity, or words to that effect."
"I think those were his exact words," I said. "The idea was a good one, though, and I figured the real problem was the fact that there was a man of the house. The other potential pitfall was our admission that we were the source of the charity. With these pitfalls in mind, I contacted a battered women's shelter and asked for the names of some mothers who had occupied the shelter but had recently moved out and would appreciate some help. The woman running the shelter gave me three names and phone numbers. I called each mother, told her I was a volunteer for a charitable organization, and conferred with her about the wants and needs for each of her children. My call pleased the mothers, so hopefully the gifts will be appreciated. Because of time constraints, I hired a professional shopper to purchase the gifts for me. They're wrapped, including name tags, and are stacked in three piles in my studio."
Jeannie
- 28.06.2021
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