To my faithful followers and new readers: This is the fourth chapter of a twelve-chapter story. The entire book is already written, and I will do my best to get each chapter published as quickly as Lit allows.
In this chapter, Mary, Robert, and Martha, each in their own way, deal with the sorrow of Frank's death and the trials of living with a newborn child.
All characters participating in or observing sexual activity are at least eighteen years old. The author is well over the age of consent.
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Facets of Love
Chapter 4
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Robert Ryan Jones
September 2018
Frank's funeral was a tough one. It seemed so unfair that a man, who appeared to be perfectly healthy, would die a week after the birth of his first grandchild and a month before his fiftieth birthday. His memorial service filled the church with friends, relatives, and business associates. It was the first time both Frank's and Martha's parents had been in the same room together since Mary was born.
I tried to be the stoic one. The strong, dry-eyed man, who held everything together. And I was doing okay until Robbie started crying while James gave the eulogy. That's when I remembered Frank's last words to me.
"Listen son. If this goes south, I want you to promise me you'll take care of her."
At the time, I didn't realize the importance of his words. Hell, I didn't even know what he was asking. I first thought he wanted me to take care of Mary. Did he really think I'd abandon his daughter if he died? And even when he clarified it and said he wanted me to also take care of Martha, I still didn't get the subtle shift until the funeral.
That was the first time he called me 'son'. Before, it was always 'boy', 'rookie', 'new guy', or, when he was either pissed at me or in a joking mood, 'asshole'. But the last time he spoke to me, he called me "son". While James continued to extoll his brother's many virtues, I realized what I was going to miss. Frank was the dad I lost and the grandfather my son would never have.
So, I wept. I put my arms around Mary and Robbie and wept.
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As much as we thought it might, the world didn't stop turning when Frank died. People still needed cardboard boxes, our workers still needed paychecks, and Mary needed to eat so Robbie would have milk to drink. Which still amazed me. How was it possible for Mary to put pizza, sweet tea, and brussel sprouts into her mouth and, an hour later, squirt milk out of her boobs. I don't care how smart computers got; no machine could match the human body.
Which is as good a segue as I'll ever get to the next shocking event in my life.
Like I said previously, once we put Frank in the ground, the best thing for all of us was to get on with our lives. James and I worked feverishly trying to figure out how to run the company without Frank's leadership. James obviously took over, but he had always been more of the marketing and political genius while Frank kept the assembly line open. James leaned heavily on me to help with the day-to-day grind of keeping the machines and people on task. We put in lots of long days and caught up with paperwork during the weekend.
Mary obviously had her hands full, finding out that Robbie was a hell of a lot easier to handle when he was in her tummy than when he escaped to the real world. Despite Robbie waking up three or four times a night, Mary seemed to have a handle on the motherhood thing and really didn't need much help from either Martha or me. Which was a problem.
Martha purposely cancelled all of her September client sessions so she would be available to help Mary with the baby. But, since Mary had everything under control, Martha didn't have anything to do except grieve the loss of her husband. To say she was acting strangely was a gross understatement.
Before Robbie was born and Frank died, our morning routine was fairly simple. Mary woke me up with a blow job. I went on a three-mile run and cooled down in the kitchen with a cup of coffee while Martha fixed breakfast in her night gown. Mary, Frank, Martha, and I all ate breakfast together. Mary and I showered together and then I left for work. I'm not sure what Frank and Martha did after breakfast, but I always got to the factory a half hour before Frank.
Things changed after the funeral. First off, I no longer got my wakeup blow job. It took Robbie a while to get his nights and days figured out so, after keeping Mary awake most of the night, both he and Mary slept in until well after 9:00 am.
Not a problem. Using an old-fashioned alarm clock to wake me up, I still went on my morning run and cooled down while drinking coffee in the kitchen. I told her she didn't have to, but Martha still got up early and fixed me breakfast, in her night gown, even though neither Frank nor Mary would be down to share it with us.
I'm ashamed to admit that, just like when Frank was alive, during the few minutes when it was only Martha and me in the kitchen, I continued to enjoy an occasional glance at the outline of Martha's unrestrained boobs as the morning sun made her diaphanous gown essentially transparent.
At the time, I thought it was a good thing. Not me perving over my mother-in-law's boobs. I'm talking about Martha fixing breakfast. She had been getting up early to prepare the morning meal for eighteen years. Sticking to old routines was probably a healthy way to heal from her loss.
All that changed the morning I came back from my run to find Martha in a robe instead of her customary nighty. And she wasn't fixing breakfast.
"Are you alright?" I asked.
"I... I need you to do something for me."