Oldest Betty Conclusion

I felt inspired to take this story to its conclusion. Like it or not, here it is.

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Oldest Betty - Conclusion

by st0rmringer

The Funeral

Rambunctious children pranced excitedly around Old Betty as she stepped out of the car, prodding each other playfully, trying to start a game of tag; sullen teenagers stood around the edges of the crowd, sublimely uninterested, their eyes glued to their phones; and adults crowded close, all of them jabbering away at the same time.

Betty's high voice rose quaveringly above the clamoring, babbling crowd.

"QUIET!" she shouted. Her shrill raspy voice cut through the commotion like a hot knife through butter.

The noisy, babbling crowd went completely quiet. After a few startled moments of silence, they looked at each other and started to murmur. The muttering slowly grew in volume until they were as loud, or maybe even louder than before.

Adam got out of the car, pulled the old woman's walker from the trunk and made to hand it to her but her relatives blocked his way. They were so absorbed in welcoming her that they didn't notice him at all, except for one of the teenagers who glanced up from her phone when he brushed by her.

Melanie watched the boy push his way through the crowd to hand her great, great grandma her walker.

The old woman took it absently and used it to shuffle slowly to the big, one-story house. Her family crowded close around her like a teeming school of fish.

Melanie was a tall, slim and curvy beauty with long, dark blonde hair that fell around her face like waves of honey. She wore a pair of skin-tight jeans that accentuated her wide hips and impossibly narrow waist. A pale pink cut-off t-shirt left her trim midriff bare and she wore a pair of slip-on white sneakers on her slender feet.

Her lovely, delicate features sharpened with interest when she caught sight of Adam.

Hello! Who was this, she wondered, finally interested in something other than the Instagram app on her phone.

She saw a tall, muscular boy, several years older than herself. He had short, stylishly mussed dark hair, thick dark eyebrows over deep-set dark brown eyes. His lips were soft and full, and he had a firm square jaw.

His jeans hugged and showcased his long, muscular legs, and he wore a t-shirt with an image of DeadPool's signature black and red mask with white eyeballs and the words "Maximum Effort" in bold letters beneath it.

After the boy handed her Grandma Betty her maroon metal walker, he edged away as the mob crowded close to the bent and shuffling old woman, all of them talking at the same time once again.

Melanie stayed behind and followed the boy. He went back to the car and pulled two large bags and a black backpack from the trunk of the 10-year-old black Honda civic.

She wasn't a shy girl, but something about this boy struck a chord in her and she couldn't seem to make herself form words. She stood behind him, nervously twining her hair around a slim finger, shifting her weight from foot to foot and watching intently as he rummaged through the trunk.

She felt more nervous and jittery than she ever had in her life.

Is this how boys feel when they approach her, Melanie wondered.

She smiled self-deprecatingly at the conceit of that thought and opened her mouth to ask the hot boy who he was, but no words came out because he turned just as she was about to speak.

Her knees turned to jelly when their eyes met. Her heart fluttered in her chest like a caged bird and butterflies collided like bumper cars in her tummy.

It felt as if her world was rocked on its foundations.

Those inscrutable piercing brown eyes were confident and mysterious. They crinkled merrily in a friendly smile when he caught sight of her standing behind him.

"Hi," he said simply.

His voice was an unexpectedly deep baritone that sent shivers down her spine and made the already electrified hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. Goosebumps sprouted all over her body, her knees almost buckled, and she felt a sudden inexplicable urge to run away.

She'd never experienced that kind of reaction before, and it confused her. When it came to boys, she was usually the one in charge of the situation, ready to act with disdain, sarcasm or to ignore the boys altogether. Although she did sometimes flirt with the cute ones before dismissing them.

This one though. This one was different in a way she couldn't pin down.

She stared at his handsome young face, her mouth opening and closing like a gaffed fish, but she didn't make a sound. Her brain told her to say "hi" in return, but her voice didn't seem to want to cooperate.

He stared at her for several moments then thrust a hand hesitantly at her.

"I'm Adam. A friend of Betty's," he said nervously, sublimely unaware of the jumble of confused thoughts tumbling around Melanie's buzzing brain.

She gulped and stared at his large hand uncomprehendingly. It was tanned and strong. She instantly pictured it touching her oh so intimately. She shivered violently and the goosebumps returned.

She gulped nervously again and was about to put her sweaty hand in his when it dropped to his side. She'd stood there rudely staring at it like an idiot for way too long.

Melanie looked up into his handsome face again. There was a look of embarrassment, confusion and disappointment on his features.

"Umm, yeah. It's nice meeting you," he murmured, breaking eye contact.

He turned, shut the trunk, picked up the luggage and carried it towards the house. He left a garment bag in the car. It had Old Betty's black dress and his suit in it. He'd go back for it later.

Melanie's mouth continued to open and close, still tried to form words, but nothing came out other than an occasional gasping breath.

What the hell was wrong with her?

He probably thought she was a royal bitch.

Melanie had never believed in love at first sight.

If it even existed, it was something that happened to other people. She'd always been in control when she met boys and expected it to be that way forever. This experience rocked her to the core, changed her in subtle ways she didn't quite understand and would need to explore in a private moment, locked away in her bedroom with her diary.

She stood staring at the boy's broad back, her eyes lingering on his muscular behind as he trudged up the walkway to her house. The black backpack was slung on his muscular shoulder and he carried a suitcase in each hand. They were her Grandma Betty's bags, old, battered and didn't have wheels.

She smiled to herself and rubbed her sweaty palms on her jeans.

The next few days promised to be interesting.

Only if she could untangle her stupid tongue and talk to this hot boy.

Who was he? Why did HE drive her great, great grandma here instead of some stuffy old biddy from her church?

She trotted to catch up to the boy and tried to take one of the bags from his hands, but she was behind him. He didn't see her, and she was too aggressive when she tried to pull its handle from his grasp.

Instead, she pulled him off balance just as he raised his foot on the last of the four wooden steps leading to the porch.

He cried out in surprise as he tumbled sideways and into one of the tall spiny shrubs that lined the edges of the porch, below the windows. He turned his body as he fell and sank into it butt-first.

The other bag slipped from his hand as he fell, bounced down the stairs and burst open, spilling her Grandma Betty's clothes and personal belongings all over the stairs and concrete walkway.

"Oh my god," Melanie cried out in dismay. "I'm so sorry!"

She watched the boy struggle to get out of the thick, spiky, dark green bush. Every hard waxy leaf had half a dozen thorns on its points. It was meant to deter thieves from breaking into the house through the windows. She watched him wince as they punched through his clothes to plunge into his skin. She saw scratches on his arms as he struggled to find leverage so he could climb out.

She thrust out a hand to help him, but just as he reached out to grasp it, she pulled it back in panicked indecision and he sank deeper into the shrub with a gasp of pain.

I'm such an idiot, she told herself and reached out to help him again. Just as before, she drew her hand back the moment he reached for it.

He gasped in pain and struggled to right himself but only managed to sink ever deeper into the spiny bush. He didn't reach for her hand when she held it out to him a third time. He struggled from the bush, hissing in pain at his scratched and punctured skin.

"Thanks for the help," he said sarcastically, taking a moment to rub his legs and forearms, smearing blood on his tanned skin.

He bent to pick up Grandma Betty's clothes, quickly shoving them back into the suitcase before shutting it.

She was so busy looking at him that she didn't notice the large lacy bras or revealing clothes mixed in with the baggy, old-fashioned and excruciatingly ugly clothes her great, great grandma usually wore.

Melanie trembled in terror and excitement when the boy approached her and leaned down until his face was right in front of hers.

With a shiver of excitement and panic, she thought he was going to kiss her and took a panicked step back.

"Don't flatter yourself," he said caustically, taking the suitcase handle from her hand without touching her. "I got your signal loud and clear."

Frowning, he straightened and moved to step around her.

"Don't need any help. I got it," he said, and turned away.

He didn't look disappointed or confused anymore. He looked resigned and more than a little sad.

He turned his head as he took the four steps to the porch, looking at her from the corner of his eye to reassure himself that she wasn't anywhere near him and wouldn't try to "help" him again.

Melanie stood rooted to the spot, once again nervously twirling her dark blonde hair around her forefinger.

She'd really messed that up.

Royally!

More than likely, the boy thought she was a rude bitch. He probably thought she disliked him enough to tumble him into the spiny bush and then not help him climb out. And to top it all off, she'd cringed away from him when he leaned in close to her as if he were a leper and not the hottest guy she'd ever seen in her life.

She watched disconsolately as he hesitantly disappeared through the open front door, plunging into the hubbub of unintelligible voices coming from inside the house.

She sighed and followed a few moments later.

Once inside, she stood in a corner of the room where her cornflower blue eyes never left the dark-haired boy who stood uncertainly behind her great, great grandma while she held court with her family.

Melanie didn't particularly like her Grandma Betty. She dressed in horrible, baggy, garishly colored clothes. She was ancient, hunched, and as shriveled and dried up as an old prune. She also had a hairy mole on the line of her jaw Melanie couldn't help but stare at with distaste. It was big and dark, and it had thick black hairs sprouting from it like cactus thorns.

But mostly, Grandma Betty was a mean, bad-tempered old bitch who always found fault with everyone and everything.

Most of her family didn't like her, but it didn't matter. She was the family matriarch, and she ruled with an iron fist whenever the family got together. For some reason, all the adults catered to her every whim and, though they complained and criticized her in private, they still did as she commanded.

It had always been so, and she suspected always would.

Later, she found out the nasty old hag was loaded.

Thanks to her dead husband, Grandma Betty had millions in the bank and owned shares and investments in very successful businesses, so everyone in the family was elbowing to be the highest in her affections.

The old woman knew and used this knowledge to her advantage.

Melanie tore her eyes away from the boy and looked at the family matriarch.

Grandma Betty sat hunched on the edge of the big sofa like a hungry vulture waiting for its next meal, leaning her pale spindly arms on the maroon walker. She looked ancient but there was something different about her. She seemed more robust, more energetic than the last time she saw her. There was also a strange gleam in her eye and a faint curl to her thin lips that made her look like a kindly old woman and not the shrewish old harridan she was.

Something was definitely something different about Grandma Betty.

The old woman lifted a bony, twisted-fingered hand and the voices quickly died away until there was no sound except for shuffling feet, tense breathing and the creaking of the house on its foundations.

She glanced behind her and raised a frail hand to her shoulder so the boy could take it in his. Her tiny, frail hand looked as small as a child's in his large paw.

"This is Adam," she said.

Melanie felt an instant flash of jealousy and anger when the beautiful boy took her Grandma Betty's small arthritic hand warmly in his.

It looked so wrong. So off. His hand was strong, tanned, the skin youthfully taut. Hers was old, skeletal, with thick blue-green veins, twisted arthritic fingers and swollen joints.

The cute boy didn't seem the least put off by the old woman's revolting appendage. He held it gently, almost reverently, caressing the veiny, discolored skin with a thick thumb.

There was a murmur of welcome. The children and teenagers just looked at him curiously.

A brief smile came and went on the old woman's weathered face, then she turned to her daughter, Millie.

She was a heavyset, matronly woman in her early to mid-sixties, with her long, steel-gray hair pulled back into a loose bun. She wore a shin-length, pale blue summer dress and her heavy face bore more than a faint resemblance to Old Betty.

"You said you have a room for me and my friend," Old Betty said imperiously. Her voice was harsh and unfriendly.

Melanie's great grandmother, Millie, held her hand out to the boy who took it instantly in his hard, warm grip and shook it briefly.

"Welcome to our home, young man, and thank you for taking the time to drive my mother here," she said in a friendly tone, but her eyes held curiosity and a faint hint of challenge as if asking him what his intentions were towards her mother.

She turned and pointed at Melanie and then at her younger brother Johnny.

"The two of you show him where he can put your Grandma Betty's bags," she said.

Milly turned to look at her mother then at the boy.

"We'll need to find you a place where you can stay while you're a guest with us," she continued.

Old Betty's face twisted in a sudden angry frown.

"I told you he's staying in the room with me," she rasped, her voice tight with anger. "We're not putting anyone out."

"Mother, that just wouldn't be right," Millie said reasonably. "He can stay with one of boys or we could put him on an inflatable bed in the living room."

The old woman stood and shuffled slowly toward the front door.

"I knew this would happen," she muttered angrily. "C'mon boy. Let's go find us a hotel room."

Melanie's voice rose loudly in protest, joining a dozen others as the boy picked up the suitcases and followed behind Grandma Betty, glancing around apologetically.

The angry old woman muttered harshly as she shuffled to the door while everyone looked at Millie.

Millie threw her arms in the air in exasperation.

"Fine! Fine! Melanie, Johnie, take Adam to the basement, show him where he and my mother are staying," she said with a resigned sigh of frustration.

Her brother Johnny, who was two years younger than her and right at the edge of puberty, ran to the tall handsome boy and snatched one of the bags from his hand.

"Follow me!" the boy shouted and scurried off.

Melanie tried to take the other bag, but the tall boy frowned faintly and pulled it out of her reach.

"I got it," he said briskly, motioning in the direction her brother had taken. "Lead the way. I'll follow you."

She shrugged and led the way, exaggerating the sway of her wide hips, and glancing occasionally behind her to reassure herself that he was following. She expected his eyes to be glued to her ass as most other boys' eyes usually were, but he didn't even glance at her. Instead, he took in the big rambling house around them.

Disappointed that he didn't seem the least bit interested in her, she sighed, wishing she could go back in time for a redo of when they first met.

In the normal world, he should be flirting with her or showing off, and she should be ignoring him and not the other way around.

She led him downstairs. There was a closed door across from the foot of the stairs. To the left was a large storage area filled with dusty shelves and moldy boxes, the right-hand passage led to a stout wooden door.

It was open and Johnny stood just inside holding Old Betty's bag in both hands.

It was a large, finished bedroom with a tile floor kitchenette and dining area to the left and a carpeted bedroom with a queen-size bed to the right. It was a large, luxurious apartment with a walk-in closet, and a large bathroom.

It had its own private entrance. A door led up a flight of stairs to a walkway that curved around the edge of the house to the driveway.

A faint scent of gardenia flowers lingered in the cool still air. The ceiling was low, but the room didn't feel stuffy or claustrophobic. Floor to ceiling mirrors lined the walls beside and behind the bed, making the room seem even bigger.

Adam put the bag down and shrugged the backpack off his shoulder.

"What's up with all the mirrors?" he asked.

Johnny shrugged and dropped the bag next to the bed then he hopped onto it and began jumping on its springy surface, rumpling the bedspread and nearly slamming his head on the ceiling.

"They've always been there," he shouted. "I think it'd be kinda cool if there were mirrors on the ceiling too."

Melanie watched the proceedings, arms crossed and toe tapping the ground impatiently.

"Get off the bed, asshole," she said exasperatedly. "Mom told you to stop doing that. And you better fix it. You know how Grandma Betty gets."

At the mention of Old Betty's name, the boy's happy, animated happy expression was instantly wiped away to be replaced with a sour frown.

"Yeah. I guess," he said dejectedly, jumping from the bed and remaking it.

Adam turned to her when she spoke.

"So you talk," he said with a hopeful smile on his handsome face.

Melanie almost dropped her eyes, but defiance and a brief anger brushed over her like a hot wind. Still, her heart fluttered in her chest when he looked at her and she felt herself begin to melt down as she had outside when they first met. She drew a deep breath and responded.

"Um. Yeah. I talk," she said sarcastically.

She instantly regretted her sharp tone, the same tone of voice she used when talking to her annoying little brother.

The smile instantly disappeared from his face, and he turned and walked away. With a grunt, he dropped the bag next to the one Johnny had carried in.

He turned back to look at the girl. She looked angry and frustrated while nervously twisting a thick strand of dark blonde hair around her right index finger.

He thought back through the last 30 minutes or so since he and Old Betty pulled into the driveway, wondering what the hell he'd done to make this girl dislike him so much. He'd barely spoken to her and yet she treated him like crap.

Adam glanced at the girl in confusion.

She was tall and stunningly beautiful, with the same large cornflower blue eyes as Old Betty, but without the hazy cataracts. She seemed shy, but he recalled the way she acted by the trunk of his car, her rudeness in not introducing herself or shaking his hand, the way she caught him off guard and tumbled him into the spiny bushes, and then the way she teased him with help when he tried to climb out.