Sera Ch. 02

"How big is this place anyway?"

"Hundred acres."

"Wow, that's... pretty big."

"It used to be an edge lot before it got built up back there and it was never parceled out," he explained."

"Okay. So, when you say 'out back'..."

"Way out back," he confirmed with a smile, putting another stone slab in the settling trailer, this one not so big.

"How old is the house?" I asked.

"Built in nineteen-thirty-seven," he answered.

"Geez, it doesn't seem like it."

"It's been renovated a few times."

"Oh."

He gave me a short history of the place, its previous owners, when and how they updated. It was actually quite interesting, but I had other places to go, places like the pool. (Not the one out back)

After making my polite goodbye, I backtracked and soon found myself looking down through ten feet of water at the deep end of the large, competitive field of chlorinated water. It was a really nice pool area too, properly naturalized with the enchanted wood that surrounded it, at the same time acting part of the segue between the house and grounds. The deck offered bathrooms that had changing areas, showers and a shed to store things like flotation loungers. After forcing myself away from the temptation to do a few laps in my boxer briefs, I left and headed back to the house.

A bit later, I was checking out the ground floor, standing in the front entry hall and looking up at the high ceiling, the second floor opened up to accommodate the large chandelier hanging from above. To my immediate right, two tall doors were open and movement from beyond them distracted my attention from the sheer grandeur of the place.

Craning my neck, I could see no further movement, but decided to check out that room anyway. From the doorway, I looked in at what seemed like a sort of parlour and sitting on a Queen Anne style loveseat with her back to me was Sheila.

It was an odd thing to walk into that room, having heard all about her from Mum, the thing she did, all the other stories. It felt somewhat akin to an opportunity to interview Saddam Hussein's ghost. My eyes stayed on her head as I came around and stopped beside a chair that sat opposite her, looking at the little blonde with no expression and no idea at the moment of what I'd say. Perhaps I was just curious.

She looked up at me before I came to a halt, holding a china cup while steadying a saucer on her knee. She waited, probably for me to speak as she openly and a little discomfortingly looked me over.

"Did your mother send you to remind me of what a useless little whore I am?" she suddenly asked with a dispassionate tone, taking a sip afterwards.

"No. I thought I'd introduce myself, since I never got the chance earlier."

She paused, her indifferent expression and tone softening slightly to a mildly amused demeanor.

"My name's Steven," I said, stepping forward and extending my hand.

Placing her cup on its saucer, she shook, replying, "I'm Sheila, but you knew that, of course. Pleased to meet you."

"Same here," I said, taking my hand back from her warm little one.

I took a seat in the chair and she asked with that same mild humour, "Wouldn't your mother be pissed off if she knew you were talking to me?"

"Probably. The last thing she told me was to stay away from you."

She smiled a bit wider at this and took another sip, saying afterward, "There's tea over there if you want some. Sasha brought a spare cup."

"No, thanks.

"So, you're curious."

"Curious?"

"Curious," she repeated. Why else would you defy your mother to talk to me?"

I shrugged and admitted, "I suppose I am curious, but I got my own fish to fry. What do you think of Ashleigh?"

"Hm. You're Kathleen's son, alright. What do I think of Ashleigh? Gee, I don't know," she admitted half sarcastically, "She pops out of my life over thirty years ago, and then she suddenly pops back into it. How do I know what to think?"

"Well... do you get that she's genuine?"

"Well, she's really my big sister Ashleigh, if that's what you mean."

"That's not what I mean," I patiently explained. "I mean, do you trust her?"

"God-dam, you are your mother's kid. Yeah, I trust her. I mean, I'm not afraid she's going to sneak into my room at night and cut my head off, right?"

"Nah, that's more Mum's style."

She laughed out loud at this, obviously knowing it to be true on some level. I smiled along with her and when she finished, she looked me up and down a little with a leftover smile on her face.

"So, you're really not here to shit on me?"

"No. You've never done anything to me."

We looked each other in the eyes then before I could stop myself, before I could remember that it wasn't good to do that with family members and... nothing happened. Well, not really. I found it hard to look away. She definitely had this 'thing' about her.

"So, what are you up to, Steve?"

"Not much, just taking a walk around."

"Exploring?"

"Yup."

"I was doing a little of that earlier, but I got the fucking jetlag. I'm going to go crash soon."

"Oh yeah, Ashleigh said you lived in the UK. What's that like?"

She shrugged and explained, "It's a nice place to lose yourself, but I missed home. It was nice to get off the plane and smell Canada again."

"I bet. The weather's kinda crappy over there, huh?"

"Kinda," she confirmed, taking a sip of her tea and adding, "It's a bit like the prairies in the winter time. Except when it's winter. Then it's just as depressing as your own grave, but the people are great. I just love that British stiff upper lip."

"Oh yeah?"

"Totally. This one day when it was raining- go figure –and I mean pissing down, this guy was caught out in it without a hat or umbrella. He was an older, upper class gent and, Steve, I swear to you that this man never even so much as squinted his eyes against it as it drove in his face. No, he walked along just like the weather was what it is outside here, today."

"Really?" I laughed, trying to picture this.

"Oh, yeah, I just love the stalwart pride in the face of it all, you know?"

"Yeah, I can get that. ... Um, I don't mean to be nosey, but are you staying, or have you made up your mind?"

"My mind's still spinning. How 'bout yours?"

"Pretty much, but we're staying for now."

Sheila nodded, looking at her cup for a moment before looking back at me and asking, "Are you hungry?"

" ... Yeah, actually."

"Did you happen to see a kitchen in your wanderings?"

"No."

"Hm. Well, I suggest we go and find it before we start gnawing at the legs on the coffee table."

"A sensible plan," I noted with a grin. "And you don't suspect that my mother may have sent me as a spy?"

"I know who my friends are, kid. Come on."

We found the kitchen after less than five minutes, both of us impressed at its size, professional setup, appliances and the presence of a chef, whose name was Anne. After Sheila assured the attractive, voluptuous, deep brunette in the white kitchen attire that she could help herself, the beautiful little blonde went about making up a couple of really good BLTs on perfectly toasted buns. We ate across from one another at a large island after pulling a couple of nearby tall stools up to it.

I was surreptitiously checking out Anne's bust line as she worked, if only to keep my eyes off Sheila and her very pretty face and fuckable body, she also watching Anne dice vegetables until she spoke up.

"I'm pretty good in the kitchen, but not as good as her."

"What do you make?" I asked, now having an excuse to look at her.

"All different kinds of dishes, but lately? Mostly Italian because that's what I'm trying to perfect. I'm pretty good with chicken."

"Have you ever had Chubby Chicken?" I asked.

"Pah! Mine's better," she stated before taking a bite of her BLT.

"Chubby's pretty good," I grinned, taking another bite of my own.

"Yeah, Chubby's good, but mine is still better. I had some after I got off the plane and on the way here, so I know."

"Me and Mum have been getting KFC lately."

"Ah, KFC, the deep fried alternative to ex lax."

"Gross," I laughed, "but so true."

After a pause during another mouthful of BLT, she said simply, "Sorry about the way I reacted when I first saw you in the library."

"It's okay."

"You know who you look like, right?"

I nodded, taking another bite, not mentioning how creepy I sometimes found my likeness to Walton with respect to everything that had gone on to lead to his suicide. I supposed she probably found it creepy herself, taking into account her part in it, but at least she wasn't letting it affect how she treated me.

"I don't know if she ever told you," she volunteered, "but your mother looks just like your grandmother. My Daughter looks just like me and you... Growing up, Kathleen and Mum were just an oddity, something I took for granted and everybody else just got used to, but after today..."

I was staring as I chewed and I wasn't sure if it was because she was so much fun to look at, or because I was hesitant about what I was tempted to bring up.

"What?" she asked, forcing my hand.

I swallowed, looked down at the top of the island and asked, "Did you get any answers when you saw her a couple years ago? Your mum, I mean?"

She froze, locking her eyes and a surprised expression on me as we regarded each other silently.

"How do you know about that?" she asked suspiciously, now unsure of me.

"I was there. Shoreline Adult Residential Facility. They mentioned you."

After a moment, she continued, still staring, although her anxiety seemed to level off closer to where it had been.

"You were in Saint John?"

"We just came from there. The tide brought us back."

I had no idea why I said that and I was as shocked by it as Sheila was as she again froze, again stared.

"What did you say?" she asked quietly.

"Uh... I have no idea why I said that. It was... something somebody said to me...," I trailed off, unable to tell her that I'd heard it in a dream for fear of looking like a world class nut bar.

" ... In a dream?" she quietly asked after putting her BLT down on her plate, quite serious now.

"Uhmm... Yes. In a dream. How'd you...?"

"I had this dream one night almost three years ago," she explained with a note of awe in her voice. "It was one of those really vivid ones, the kind that you don't forget no matter what it was about."

"The kind you're sure has to have some meaning," I put in.

She nodded and continued, "I won't get into the actual dream because it... well, let's just say I often dream in hardcore and leave it at that, but someone in my dream said that very same thing to me and... at the time, I was thinking about some things, about the past and, in the days that followed, it just kind of clicked in, what it meant. "I was- I felt compelled to make a short trip to Saint John, just to make sure and... well..."

"That's pretty much how it happened for me," I shared as she picked up her BLT again.

Pausing just before a bite, she looked thoughtfully at the remainder of her snack and said, "I got answers, alright. And I've been afraid ever since."

I silently processed this before she asked me, "Sooo... you saw her?"

I nodded my affirmative, popping the last of the BLT into my mouth.

" ... How'd that go? Did you get any answers?"

After I swallowed, I sat straighter, pushing my plate to the side and answered, "Oh, yeah. Yeah, I got answers. And I'm pretty scared, too. Sometimes I have to work at keeping it down."

We looked at each other again and an understanding was formed in the silent space between our eyes before she finished her snack, both of us watching Anne again as though this would hide us from our fears. We put our plates in the dishwasher and cleaned up after ourselves, neither one of us saying anything more until we were outside the kitchen.

"I don't know about your chicken, but that was the best BLT I ever had. Thanks, Aunt Sheila."

She laughed a little, the darker mood of earlier lifted between us now, and said, "I never thought I'd ever hear anyone call me 'Aunt Sheila' and, if you ever do it again, I'll have your vile tongue."

I laughed a bit as well as we made our way back to the main foyer, answering, "I promise I won't call you that again, then. For the sake of my tongue."

Then, her demeanor changed so suddenly, yet almost imperceptibly as she looked up at me from under her brows, a tricky, sexually enticing smile on her face as she took a breath to say something.

"Oh, there you are, Sheila."

It was Ashleigh. She was coming down the stairs, tits bouncing softly in their black bra with each footfall until she reached the bottom, looking at us both with a slightly curious expression before speaking again.

"How are you, Steven?"

"Good, Aunt Ashleigh," I managed, feeling like I'd just been somehow yanked away from the claws of a tiger. "(Ahem) How are you?"

"Very well, thank you. Sheila, I wonder if I could speak with you?"

The look that almost froze me in my tracks had completely disappeared as Sheila looked up at her sister, replaced by one that suggested nervousness before she answered.

"Sure."

"Steven, you don't mind if I take your company away?"

"No, that's okay."

"Thanks. Come on, sis. I'll show you my den on the second floor, you'll love it."

"Let's go," she agreed, mostly hiding her apprehension over a meeting where she might end up explaining what happened with her father. "See ya round, Steve."

"Later, Sheila."

Ashleigh said her polite, parting words and I watched the two physically opposite, gorgeous women climb the stairs together. I couldn't help feeling sorry for Sheila, the alleged, infamous whore who considered me her friend and was actually, I was pretty sure, about to flirt with me. She wasn't at all what I would have expected and I couldn't help but feel bad for her. She seemed to have an inner loneliness that rivaled our mutual fear of what Marie represented to us all. And yes... I liked her.