Melodic RedemptionChapter 5
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Melodic RedemptionChapter 42 free porn video
Stoney's turn:
So let's see where we're at now. I have a rollicking good life. There were long, lonely nights in the not too far past that I despaired of finding the person who would fill the void in my soul. As I sit here, eyes closed to repair the strain from staring at the diagram on my monitor, there's a little metallic blue Japanese car leaving the campus of the university, headed to what used to be my apartment.
It's not my apartment now. It's ours. The driver of that little blue car has a head of red hair that clashes wildly with metallic blue. Those blue eyes of hers make the hair even more outrageous, and the fact that those are only the outside of the package, well, for most of my life I didn't know what to dream of. Now I'm married to her.
Other than the shooting on our wedding day and that whole car wreck thing, life has been idyllic. I've gained a delightful conversationalist with a wicked sense of humor, somebody who is comfortable everywhere we've been, somebody who meshed with my meager musical talents and actually had me on stage in front of a chamber orchestra in front of a real audience.
And she thinks my boat, no, OUR boat, is a happy refuge. I always thought of the boat in terms of solitude before. Yes, I occasionally brought friends out, but since Jo came along, it's a place for the two of us to be.
And right now I'm daydreaming on my job, thinking about getting HOME to her. Stoney, you've died and gone to heaven.
My computer emitted that annoying 'incoming mail' tone. I opened the email, gathering another piece of the puzzle that was my project, sighed, and went back to work.
I was looking at the output report of an electrical analysis program when Brad stopped by.
"Brought you the last donut," he said, presenting me with a cold donut on a napkin. "You can stand it. I can't. If I give it to you, then I gain karma points."
"You need all you can get," I laughed.
"So how's Jo's new friend working out?"
"Kara? Delightful."
"Doesn't that sort of crimp your newlywed lifestyle?"
"Not too bad. Kara's not there every day, she doesn't just show up, and even though I am a magnificent male specimen and truly a reason for you to be jealous, even I can't do that ALL the time."
He laughed because this was a common conversation between us, me and my young pretty wife, him an old married man. Of course, I've seen pictures of him and his wife when they were younger, and she was a pretty young thing as well. A man should be happy with his wife.
"We had fun trying," he laughed.
"Besides, I think Kara's angling for a move to Alabama."
"Alabama? She'd leave a garden spot like Houston for Alabama?"
"Auburn University. A bunch of like minds in a community."
"Auburn?" Brad shook his head. "Drake's from Auburn. He's useless as nipples on a lizard."
"Yeah, and you're from Texas A&M, and we don't hold that against them," I snorted.
"So you're getting lined up to rescue another orphan?"
"Oh, I leave that up to Jo. I'm just along for the ride."
"I know the feeling, buddy," he laughed. He turned and continued up the hall. I went back to work, one eye on a wall clock that was apparently running at quarter speed.
It did indeed finally reach four-thirty. I shut my computer down, un-docked it and stuck it in my backpack, and headed out into the parking garage. In the car I stuck a Bluetooth headset on my ear, cranked the car, and as soon as I was crawling out of the garage, I punched the button. "Johanna, mobile," I commanded Siri.
I got the expected happy voice on the other end. "Hello, my love!"
"Hi, cutie," I replied. "Just wanted you to know I'm on the road."
"I'll be here."
"What's our plan for the evening?"
"You. Me. Whatever pops up." Giggle. "Gym night tonight, then..."
"Hold that thought," I laughed. I clicked my Bluetooth off. Drive in traffic? Forgive me for being a little paranoid. I was walking mostly normal, now, though. Gym nights helped. I didn't exactly relish the idea of paying somebody for the privilege of making me sweat, but there was a trainer at the gym who understood what I needed. When I started showing up with Johanna, he saw WHY I needed it.
And yes, Jo and I had put on the pads and had a go at one another on the mats a few times. I found that if she had the rubber training knife in her hand, I soon found it stuck in some sensitive part of my body.
The first time the trainer saw us working out, he shook his head. She flipped the rubber knife at him. "Rape whistle, indeed!" she uttered.
He approached me later about the comment. "I suppose I'm missing part of the story." I gave him a bit of it.
"Uh, you carry?" he asked me.
"Yep. Everywhere it's legal. She does, too, since we got married."
"Yeah, you know, I always thought that people who got their permit were, like, paranoid."
"I'm glad I did, Wayne," I replied. "And who'd've thought? I mean, we were right there on the main drag in Galveston. Twenty yards from a club with a huge crowd all over the place."
"Didn't think it was legal to carry where they served alcohol."
"Isn't," I answered. "We were just walking past the place on the way back to the hotel."
"Oh, I see."
"The dude pulled a knife. There were two of 'em against me and Jo. And they thought we were unarmed. I would've fought, but..."
"Yeah, I know," he said. "You ain't supposed to LET it be a fair fight."
"Not with that redhead behind me."
When Jo and I left, she asked me about the conversation. I gave her the recap.
"Yeah, I got that when I talked about it at school," Jo said. "Most places are safe. Except when they're not." She sighed. "Not to change the subject, but..."
"Changing the subject," I laughed.
"Yeah. That girl in the blue outfit..."
We don't go to the gym in a vacuum. There are other clients there. I noticed the one she identified. Of course, I noted every one in the place. But this one... "Yeah. She's been there before."
"Do you think she's nice-looking?"
Oh, boy ... the minefield of interpersonal relationships. And here's one. Let's try 'honest' this time. After all, I'm talking to my Johanna, my friend, my chosen mate. "Yes, she is. But not nearly up to YOUR standard."
"Her breasts..." Jo was small-breasted. She'd told me tales of high school and 'flat as the flute player' taunts, so I knew it was a matter of a tender spot.
"Yeah, she really needs to rethink that sports bra."
"SO you looked..."
"I look at a lot of things. And if I looked right past her, there was this really neat redhead on a Stairmaster that REALLY floats my boat."
"But..."
"But nothing. Discount the sports bra. Makeup. She wears makeup to the gym. Hair. That color isn't found any further than ten clicks from Chernobyl without spending hours exposed to chemicals that I have wear a HazMat suit to work with in the field. And nails. Wonder how they'd hold up to hauling in eighty feet of muddy Galveston Bay anchor rode."
"But tits..."
"Jo, my sweetest of all woodland nymphs, I adore yours. And she probably isn't a tenth of the musician nor a quarter of the punster and doesn't know a halyard from an Irish pennant."
I got punched in the arm. Then a giggle. I knew I'd survived the test.
"Sir, we've HAD this talk. The Irish as a sea-faring race were entirely capable on our own. I have within my veins the blood of Saint Brendan."
"And he probably had Irish pennants." 'Irish pennant' is a term started by the British Navy, referencing the perceived lackadaisical attention that an Irish vessel paid to neatness and attention to detail. It was usually applied to frayed and dangling cordage.
"We'd've been much better had we not been continually raided by Vikings and those nasty British," she retorted. "So, all this nautical talk ... Any night this weekend?"
I know now that adverse weather is no excuse to this girl. Storm? Set the GOOD anchor and ride it out below. Cold? Cabin heater and hot soup. Beautiful day? "Set the sail and let's GO!" And after all, I bought the boat because I liked to sail. So "Yeah, I think..."
"I'll have us packed when you get home tomorrow."
"What about Kara?"
"Oh, Kara's okay. You know she's thinking of pulling her diploma early and moving to Alabama?"
"You mentioned that. So she's serious?"
"Oh, yes. Last word, she was going to talk to her dad."
"Sounds serious."
That's when we found out the latest news from Alabama. Jo's cellphone rang. She answered it with her normal cheer, then went "OhMyGod!" and listened. Finally, "Everybody's okay?" Pause. "Good! We love you too. Hug Susan and Nikki. And tell Nikki we're proud of 'er." And hung up.
"What was that about?" I questioned.
"You're not going to believe this..."
"I started believing a lot of things since we met that bunch," I said.
"Would you believe that Nikki killed a guy with a ballpoint pen?"
Okay ... my bullshit meter pegged. "No."
"She did. Guy jumped Susan. Tried to rape 'er. Nikki came up behind 'im and stuck a pen in the side of his head."
"Ouch! You're serious."
"Yes. And what were we talking about? Nice and safe one minute, combat the next."
"Everybody's okay? Nikki? Susan?"
"Except the guy at the morgue." She pulled as close to me as the SUV's console would allow. "My little friend..."
"There's something about that bunch. Some kind of attitude that just hangs over them all." I saw it. Jo saw it. Something that just said 'Watch out for US!'
"And we're part of it." Jo's tone was one of some finality.
I'd toyed with the idea myself. "Yeah, I guess we are."
"Still want a night or two on the boat, though. We can stay in touch, but honestly, if there's ever a group that can take care of itself, it's stashed in an apartment building in Auburn, Alabama." She folded her arms. Said one word. "Nikki."
We got home, did grilled cheese sandwiches and salads for dinner. Showered. Ended up on the sofa, a couple of laptops out, hers to catch up on the latest news from Alabama, mine to check weekend weather forecasts. And looking at airplanes for sale.
Yeah, THAT thing. In two weeks we were both going to meet a flight examiner for our private license tests. We'd done well: Passed the written easily on the first try. Progressed right through the flight training. I was standing on the apron of the airport with the guy who was doing our flight training, watching Jo coming back from a solo session.
"Give it to me straight, Trevor," I said to him. "Who's better, me or her?"
"Now if I was all tactful and mindful of your feelings, I'd soft-pedal this," he chuckled. "You're plenty good. But she has a way of just adding a little finesse. Like art."
"She IS the artist in the family," I said. "And we both started this at the same time."
"Maybe it's that 'artist' thing," Trevor opined. "You're an engineer. You're all about forces acting on objects, equations, curves and stuff. She's about flows and symmetries and harmonies."
"You're a philosopher as well as a flight instructor?"
"Neither of which pays particularly well," he laughed, shaking his head. "My choice, though." I was standing with Trevor on the apron outside the office when she taxied up and stopped. He's right. She was smooth.
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