Facets of Love Ch. 07

The rumors of a strange, flu-like virus in China started in November but didn't hit home until mid-February, the day I was supposed to pull away from Gainesville. All my worldly possession were crammed into my Rav-4, I had just locked the door to my apartment for the final time and was heading out the door when I was accosted by the asshole who lived down the hall from me.

"If you're going to the grocery store, don't bother," he said. "The shelves are almost empty of food and there's not a roll of toilet paper to be had in the county."

Since he was carrying two eight packs of Charmin in each arm, I quickly surmised he was part of the toilet paper shortage problem. It also occurred to me that, if the grocery stores didn't have an adequate supply of toilet paper, then the rest stops and gas stations would also be short. Since I had at least a two-day drive ahead of me, and my pregnant body needed to stop and pee at least every two hours, I would be smart to take some with me.

"Listen, I know I haven't been the friendliest of neighbors this past couple of years, but I've got a long drive ahead of me and... well would you find it in your heart to give or sell me a few rolls?"

"Hell no. There's no way I'm giving you shit. You've been a royal bitch ever since you moved in. But I will sell you some."

"How much?" I asked, taking my wallet out of my purse.

"How many rolls do you want?"

"Eight?"

"I'll make you a deal. You give me a blow job and I'll let you have four rolls."

I didn't consciously do it. When I kicked him in the balls with the force of a sixty-yard punt, my mind wasn't involved in the decision. It was pure instinct. Stealing two eight packs from his toilet paper filled SUV was a different story. I wanted to take more but could only fit the two packages in my already overstuffed car.

I was half a mile from the interstate when my phone rang. Which I thought strange, since the only person who knew my new number was my contact in Kansas. I took a quick glance at the caller ID and then pulled over to answer the call.

"Doctor Carter," the man said after I answered. "This is Roger Gates, I represent the town of Moxell..."

"Yes," I said. "We talked earlier in the week. What can I do for you?"

"Unfortunately, I have a bit of bad news. We had an emergency council meeting this morning and, with all this COVID 19 stuff going around, we've decided to temporarily close the town."

"What do you mean close the town?"

"It's kind of like closing a store. We're not letting any outsiders in, and, if any residents leave, they can't come back until this COVID thing passes over."

"But that could take months, even years," I said.

"That's not the word we're getting, although I have to admit that every cable news station tells a different story. The bottom line is, we hired you to keep us healthy and, if you bring in this Chinese flu, that would be counterproductive."

"Are you saying I don't have the job?"

"Not exactly. We still want you here, but your start date has been indefinitely delayed."

"But I quit my job. Moved out of my apartment. What do you expect me to do?"

"I don't rightly know. Send me a forwarding address and I'll try to talk the town leaders into sending you some spending money, but until we get an all clear from the government, we're going to stay closed. Goodbye Doctor Carter and good luck."

I sat and stared at my phone in disbelief.

"No. This cannot be happening." I screamed and pounded on the top of my steering wheel.

No job. No place to live. No family. And pregnant. Is there any way this could possibly get any worse?

The flashing red lights behind me and the police officer standing by my car door answered the question.

"Are you okay ma'am?" the officer asked when I rolled down the window.

"No. I'm not," I said in the most controlled voice I could muster under the circumstances.

"Is your vehicle disabled? Are you injured? Do you need medical attention or maybe a shelter?"

"No. My car is fine and I'm okay physically. I'm just having a shitty life."

"Oohhkay. There's not much I can do about that, but would you mind introspecting somewhere else? You're blocking the onramp and pissing off a mile long line of people behind you."

"Sure officer, give me a second to compose myself and I'll move to an approved emotional breakdown zone."

"I'd recommend someplace south of here. I-75 north is bumper to bumper all the way to the Georgia border. Every damn snowbird in the state of Florida chose today to go back home. They're all scared of this COVID thing and want to hunker down in their homes up north. But the southbound lanes are clear."

-

Robert Ryan Jones

February 16^th, 2020

I-75 north looked more like a parking lot than an interstate, thanks to thousands of cars with out of state license plates trying to escape some new flu bug. The radio rumor mill was in full throat as each news station tried to paint a worse picture than their competitors. Tired of hearing about the imminent demise of the human race, I turned off the six-lane highway, pulled out a paper map, and took back roads. Even then, the 130-mile drive from Tampa to Gainesville took twice as long as it usually did.

When I got to May's apartment complex, I parked next to a guy sitting on an ice pack, selling toilet paper in the parking lot... charging ten times the normal price. Surprisingly, he had a long line of customers. I was tempted to ask him what was going on but had more important things to do.

I'd spent the last four hours going over different scenarios. What to do if she wasn't home... or if she slammed the door in my face... or if she cried... or if she pulled me into her apartment, closed the door behind us and stripped off her clothes.

My four-hour drive and brain-storming session was all for naught. Because, when I got to May's apartment, it was empty. No furniture, no clothes, no May.

"Where's Doctor Carter?" I asked the woman who was mopping the kitchen floor.

"She's gone."

"Gone where?"

"I didn't ask. She didn't say," the woman said with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Did she leave a forwarding address?"

"No reason to. Her rent is all paid up. A new tenant moves in tomorrow."

I called Mary as I took the interstate back to Tampa and told her about May ghosting us, yet again.

"Looks like Mom wins," Mary said. "I guess we move back in with her."

"How about our other plan? We build our own house and adopt her kid."

"We can ask, but she'll never go for it. The only reason she got pregnant was to keep your cock and my pussy under the same roof as her. And let's face it. Satisfying her sexual needs is a small price to pay for a live-in cook and babysitter. Besides, she's pushing forty. How much sex does a middle-aged woman need?"

"Knowing your mother, more than most."

"Do you want me to call her and give her the good news?"

"No. We're doing dinner at her house tonight anyway. Let's see if we can at least negotiate some better rules before we commit to a life of polygamy."

"Whatever you say dear. Drive safe. And thanks for trying to get Gloria May back with us."

-

Dr. Martha Weaver Spencer

February 16^th, 2020

James brokered my deal with the freakishly flat chested doctor from Gainesville, so I called to ask him to undo his good work.

"There's nothing to undo?" he said.

"I thought you said she accepted the deal."

"That's what she said, but every time I asked if she had gotten her abortion, she always put me off. 'Next week,' she'd say. 'Or maybe the week after'."

"When was the last time you talked to her?"

"Last Monday. I tried calling her yesterday, but she didn't pick up."

"How about the money?" I asked. "Please tell me you haven't paid her yet."

"Of course not. Our agreement was that she'd get the fifty thou when she provided certified proof of her abortion. But we also promised to front her the cost of the procedure and she hasn't even asked for that."

"Do you think she's holding out for more money?"

"Hard to tell. She's completely ignoring me."

"Can't you contact her through her boss. I thought you said he and you were fraternity brothers."

"Already tried that. She quit her job as of the end of January. No forwarding address."

"Give me her phone number. If she doesn't pick up, I'll leave her a voice mail that she won't be able to refuse."

Except I couldn't. Because when I called the number James provided, it went directly to a message saying, "the number you are calling has been disconnected."

-

Mary Spencer Jones

February 16^th, 2020

Robert got back from Gainesville a little before 3:00 pm. He was not in a good mood, so I asked him to take Robbie to the park. Something that usually calmed his spirit and raised his morale. But not that day.

"They closed the playground," he said, returning shortly after he left. "Some ass wipe wearing a medical mask said I couldn't push Robbie on the swings."

"And you listened to him? That's not like you."

"Didn't have much choice. There was a cop with him."

"Does this have to do with the COVID thing?"

"I guess. The guy was spouting bullshit about sociable distancing, or something like that. It was hard to understand him because of the mask."

"What did the cop say?"

"Not much. He didn't seem too happy about it either, but I don't think he had any choice. First thing I'm going to do when we move back in with your mom is build Robbie a swing set in the back yard."

"Yeah," I agreed. "We can't get out of this apartment fast enough. But I'm not sure if Mom's homeowner's association allows swing sets."

"Then we'll move someplace that does."

We got to Mom's house around 5:30. I was surprised to see Uncle James' car already in the drive. Unless he was out of town, he always arrived for Sunday dinner at precisely 6:00 pm. "You can set your watch by it," Dad used to say.

James and Mom were sitting in the front porch rockers having what appeared to be a somewhat heated discussion when another car pulled up behind us with steam billowing out from under the hood. The car sounded like a dying animal when the mystery driver shut off its engine. We all held our breath as we watched the driver's side door slowly open and then gasped as Gloria May emerged from the white cloud with tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I... I had no other place to go," she said when I rushed forward to hug her. "I know I'm not wanted here. I'm not wanted anywhere, but can I stay the night? I promise to be gone in the morning."

"Not in that car, you're not," Robert said as he joined our hug. "I'll check it out tomorrow morning, but I'm pretty sure you've cooked the engine. And yes, you can stay. As long as you want."

"What about her?" Gloria May asked, pointing to my mom as she and James approached.

"Are you going to tell them or am I," James said to Mom.

"She's here now," Mom said. "There's no need."

"I disagree. If you're going to pull this off, all of you," James said, including each one of us in his gaze, "then you can't have any more secrets. So, who's going to tell them, Martha. You or me?"

"I tried to bribe her," Mom said to Robert and me. "I offered her fifty thousand dollars to get an abortion and leave the state of Florida."

"I should have rejected it out of hand," Gloria May said. "I should have said 'there's no way in hell I'm going to get an abortion and you can shove the fifty thousand up your ass.' But I didn't because I needed time to disappear."

"Why didn't you talk to us about it?" I asked. "We could have worked something out?"

"And why would you want to disappear?" Robert asked. "We told you we'd take care of you."

"I know that's what you said," Gloria May said. "But Martha's your mom, and as much as I don't like her, I can tell you two love each other. You'd always choose her over me."

"That's the problem with you medical doctors. You might know what makes a body tick, but you don't have a clue about their emotions," Mom said. "Mary and Robert moved out of my house two weeks ago and refuse to move back in unless I accept you."

"Will you," I asked my mom. "Will you let Gloria May stay in your house with us?"

"Yes. If that's the only way I can get you and Robert back under my roof, Doctor Carter can stay. In fact, I would have told her that this morning if her phone still worked."

"It's true," James said. "Martha asked me to cancel the fifty thousand dollar offer and, when I couldn't get a hold of her, she also tried to call you. And while we're in the confessional, I too must ask for repentance.

"Martha, when I met Gloria May in Gainesville, I made her two offers. One you know about. But I also offered her a job, here in Tampa. And Doctor Carter, if you're interested, the position is still yours."

"Looks like your problems are solved," I said to Gloria May. "You've got a job, a place to live, and people to take care of you. All you have to do is say yes."

"Nothing is that simple," Gloria May said. "Where will I sleep? Who pays the bills, cleans the house, and cooks the meals. Most importantly, what if it doesn't work? Suppose your mom and I can't get along and make everybody else miserable?"

"Those are all good questions. Best answered after dinner. I'm starved and, if my nose isn't lying to me, Mom's got a pot roast in the oven."

"Is that okay?" Mom asked Gloria May. "Or are you one of those vegans that don't eat meat?"

"No ma'am, pot roast is fine. I try to eat healthy most of the time, but an occasional dose of beef isn't going to harm me, either physically or emotionally."

"Good, and don't call me ma'am. I'm either Doctor Spencer or Martha. What should I call you?"

"Anything that doesn't disparage the size of my breasts."

-

Robert Ryan Jones

Martha made a killer pot roast. She put a huge hunk of beef in a slow cooker, added potatoes, carrots, onions, and some secret stuff that only she and Mary knew about, and let it cook most of the day.

The dining room table was big enough for eight, but we left a leaf out so the six of us could sit close together. A basket of home-made yeast rolls rested on one corner of the table, a tossed salad on the other. A pitcher of sweet tea sat on the kitchen counter next to a fresh-out-of-the-oven apple pie which was cooling on a metal rack.

Martha sat at the narrow end of the table closest to the kitchen. I offered the other end, the head of the table, to James, but he deferred, insisting I was now the head of the household, allowing me to sit where Frank used to. Mary and May sat on either side of me. Robbie's highchair was between Mary and Martha, allowing them to take turns tending to the youngster while the other ate. James sat between May and Martha, expertly steering the conversation towards topics that didn't pit the two women against each other.

After devouring a good bit of the pot roast, cleaning out the salad bowl, and emptying the breadbasket, I suggested taking a thirty-minute break before we sliced the apple pie. Everybody nodded in satisfied agreement except May, who was crying.

"It was just a suggestion," I told her. "If you want your pie now, I'll be glad to bring you a slice. Do you want it topped with cool whip or ice cream?"

"I love you Ryan, but you can be a complete idiot at times."

It was bad enough that May called me an idiot but did both Mary and Martha have to nod in silent agreement?

"I'm crying because I never believed this actually happened."

"What," Mary asked. "What didn't you believe happened?"

"This. Sitting around a table. Eating a homecooked meal together. I've seen it on TV hundreds of times but always thought it was a myth, like Cinderella or Camelot. Is this what real families do?"

"I don't know about real families," Mary said. "But this is what we do, every night when we can, but Sunday dinner is mandatory. We'll expect you here every Sunday at six o'clock on the dot. And if you're late, you do the dishes."

James headed home immediately after dinner, skipping dessert and also the painful discussion that he knew would follow. I helped Martha do the dishes while Mary and May gave Robbie his bath and then continued his bedtime ritual.

We all finished our chores at about the same time and converged on the living room to encounter our first issue.

The living room furniture consisted of one large recliner, which was Frank's domain when he was still alive, a smaller recliner that Martha claimed, and a couch that Mary and I usually occupied. To the best of my knowledge, nobody but Frank had ever sat in his large, comfortable recliner until that night.

Yeah, I understand that a detailed discussion of the living room furniture seems a waste of time until you think about the significance of what happened when Mary, Martha, May, and I all walked into the living room. Four people, four places to sit. One of us had to sit in Frank's chair. One of us had to assume the leadership role. And since the precedence had already been set in the dining room, I sat my undeserving ass in my deceased father-in-law's high backed, king-of-the-household, leather chair and took command of the family.

"May asked some tough questions before dinner," I told the three ladies. "Before she, or any of us, commits to moving in, we need to agree on some general rules of the house.

"Let's get the hard part over with first. I'm going to assign bedrooms and Mary will be in charge of sleeping arrangements."

Both May and Martha gave me questionable looks, but I continued on before they could voice their concerns.

"May. You're going to store your clothes in the downstairs guest bedroom and your toiletries in the adjoining bathroom.

"Martha. I know this is your house, but I want you to move your clothes and toiletries into what used to be Mary's room.

"Mary and I will be taking over the master suite, moving Frank's stuff into long term storage or giving it away, which ever Martha is comfortable with."

"Why would I move out of my bedroom?" Martha asked. "I've been sleeping there for the last twenty years."

"Because that's the only room in the house with a king-sized bed and I'm going to need it."

"Is that how it's going to be?" May asked. "You're the man so you get the best room with the best bed?"

"Yes and no," I said. "Maybe you'll understand my reasoning after Mary explains the sleeping arrangements."

"This isn't chiseled in stone," Mary said, "but I've put a good bit of thought into it over the last few weeks. We three ladies have one thing in common, we all want to sleep with Robert."

"We're also all carrying his child," Martha added.

"Not to mention that all three of us have a vested interest in your pussy," May said to Mary.

"Yeah, you're both right," Mary said. "Which means we need to learn to share. Both Robert's cock and each other's pussies."

"Sorry to interrupt again," Martha said. "But I have no desire to share my pussy with Gloria."

"Which may be the first thing she and I agree on," Gloria said.

"Okay. I get it. Nobody's going to force anything on anybody. But that means Gloria and Mom will be sleeping alone a few days every week. Here's the sleeping schedule.

"Tonight is Sunday. Robert and I will sleep together in our bedroom. Gloria and Mom can either sleep in their own rooms or sleep together. Your choice.

"Tomorrow night, Monday. I sleep with Gloria in her room and Mom sleeps with Robert.

"Tuesday. I sleep with Mom. Gloria sleeps with Robert.

"Wednesday. I sleep with Robert. You two are on your own.