Dear Readers,
A while back, I submitted a scene from this novel to the website under the title "Patience's Virtue, an Excerpt." Well, I got some negative feedback about not submitting the entire novel. So, I decided to do just that. It is my favorite novel. I know that it is silly, and romantic, and idealized, but I don't care. Call it a new category: "Idealized Erotic Relationship Fiction." I write for my own enjoyment, and to make up for what is lacking in my own life. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
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Patience and Langdon Mackenzie were two very special youngsters. They were born on the same day to the same mother, but they were not identical twins. Instead, they were fraternal twins, which means that two separate eggs were fertilized when they were conceived. They were thus true brother and sister, and they resembled each other as brothers and sisters do, but they were not identical.
Even so, they were close. When they were young, they were each other's only playmates. As they grew,
they fought as brothers and sisters often do, but they were still very, very close. That is not to say that there was anything improper about their relationship. They related to each other in the way that most siblings do, but on the whole, they were closer and fought less.
Patience was a slender girl, and stayed slender as she grew up. Her hair was fine and blonde, and she always preferred it short. She had pale blue eyes and a spray of freckles about her pert, upturned nose. Though small in stature, she was athletic and physical, aggressive and passionate.
Langdon was also slender as a boy, but by the time he had grown into a young man, had filled out nicely. He had his sister's blue eyes, but his hair was a darker brown and he had no freckles. His nose was normal, medium and straight, in no way remarkable (something he was secretly happy about). He was also athletic and physical, but not as passionate or aggressive as Patience. Langdon was more thoughtful and methodical than his sister.
Patience and Langdon, as it was explained before, were often each other's only playmates. Their closeness was such that, if they became separated, for example if one was away on a camping trip or sleepover, the other often had difficulty sleeping.
It was Patience's misfortune to be afflicted with asthma early in her childhood. Her attacks could be quite severe at times, and Langdon became an expert, at the age of 11, at ascertaining how bad an attack was, and whether it warranted a trip to the doctor's. He became proficient at administering Patience's medication to her, and was often the only one who could get his sister's attacks under control.
When Patience and Langdon were 12, the boy was awakened one night from a deep sleep by the awful certainty that his sister was in deep trouble. He could hear nothing--they had been placed in separate bedrooms years ago by their parents--yet he knew something was wrong.
He got out of bed and walked out into the hall. The entire house was quiet. He could hear his father snoring. He tiptoed down the hall to his sister's room. The door was ajar. From inside, he thought he heard a gasp, combined with a wheeze. He went inside and crossed the room to his sister's bed. "Sis?" he asked. No reply. He shook her gently, and was shocked at the clammy feel of her pajamas. "Sis?" he asked again, this time louder and more anxiously. Still no answer. Langdon reached over and turned on the lamp that sat on her bedside table.
His insides congealed with fear as the light came on and revealed his sister. Patience lay in the bed, her face pale, her lips bluish. Her eyes were wide open and unseeing. From her mouth came the faintest of wheezes and nothing else. Her chest rose and fell in spasms, as if trying to breathe, but unable to. She was obviously having an attack, and a very, very bad one at that. "Oh, shit!" the boy exclaimed, and ran from the room to get his mother and father.
Once the ambulance had taken Patience, barely breathing and wearing an oxygen mask, to the hospital, the parents had tried to convince the brother to stay with relatives. They would go to the hospital and call him as soon as they knew anything. But Langdon would have none of that. He insisted on going to the hospital with them. They finally gave in, and he rode in the back seat of the car, where he and Patience usually rode together.
Patience had been admitted to the intensive care unit. This attack had been bad enough to require putting her on a ventilator. There were IVs in her arms, and a tube down her throat. The machine quietly breathed for her.
Langdon once again insisted that he be allowed to visit his sister's bedside. When he got there, she appeared drugged, but her eyes opened wider when she saw him. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it, and she squeezed back. Their mother was crying softly, but trying to appear brave. She leaned down and kissed Patience on the forehead. Their father, a quiet man, seemed not to know what to say. He also kissed Patience and squeezed her hand. Langdon looked down at his sister and said three words, "I'll be here." She nodded.
They went back to the waiting room. A doctor came in a few minutes later, sat down, and went over Patience's condition. It was a close call, he explained, but she would be all right. She would require the ventilator overnight, but could probably come off tomorrow. After that, she would need to stay for about a week so they could run tests, administer medicine, and make sure she was all right. Then he asked, "Who found her tonight?"
"Langdon did," the mother said.
The doctor turned to Langdon and said, "Young man, if you hadn't found your sister when you did, she would have, in all likelihood, died tonight. She's extremely lucky to have a brother like you." Then the doctor left. The parents were very proud of Langdon, and from that time on, he saw Patience whenever he wanted.
The next day, good as his word, the doctor removed the ventilator from Patience, and she could once again talk. Langdon visited her every day after school. He did his homework at her bedside, and brought her sodas and snacks from the lounge. When she was better, he brought her books. On the weekend, he spent the night in the room, sleeping on a cot beside the bed.
On the outside, their relationship changed very little. But inside, each knew that they had ascended to another level. They spoke very little about it, but each knew that they would never, ever be very far away from each other.
A year later, when they were 13, the unthinkable happened. They were staying with an uncle for the weekend while their parents were away on a trip. The phone rang, and the uncle went to answer it. After a whispered, urgent conversation which caused Patience and Langdon to look, concerned, at each other, the uncle came into the room to say that both of their parents had been killed in an automobile accident.
The next few months were a nightmare from which there seemed to be no awakening. Patience and Langdon, as any children would be, were devastated by the loss of their parents. Their only comfort was each other. Many nights, while staying with this or that relative, they sneaked into each other's room, and stayed up most of the night talking and consoling each other. They knew little of the court system, or of their family's situation, but they could not envision any situation in which they would be separated. And together, they would be all right.
And then, the unthinkable happened again. One day, they rode downtown with the uncle they had stayed the most with. They went into a courtroom, where they were shown places to sit. After a lot of mumbo-jumbo that they did not understand, the judge said something they did understand. In essence, he said that, owing to the precarious financial nature of the families involved, the brother and sister should be separated. Patience would go and live with her paternal uncle and his wife. Langdon would go and live with his maternal uncle, who was a widower.
The brother and sister were shocked and dismayed. Separated! They were to be separated! It was impossible! Patience began crying loudly, and so did Langdon, though quieter. They clung together, and Patience shouted "No! No! I want to be with Langdon! I want to be with my brother!"
But it was not to be. They were driven back to the house of the uncle with whom they were staying. There, gently but firmly, they were told that they were to be separated, that there was nothing to be done, and that was that. The move would take place three days from then. They were slightly consoled by the fact that they would still be in the same town, and could see each other often. But they would not go to the same school, or stay in the same house.
For the next three days, Patience and Langdon moped about, desultorily packing their belongings. They dreaded the awful moment when they should be separated. They stayed up all night once, vowing to write, to call, to stay as close as possible.
When the day came to go to their new, separate homes, Patience thought her heart would break, and she saw that Langdon felt the same way. Still, they were only 13, with no control over their fate. They were loaded into separate cars, and driven to separate houses across the city from each other.
For about a year, it was not too bad. Although they lived in separate houses, they were together alot. They still kept close with phone calls and visits, and the pain of losing their parents, and each other, began to fade somewhat.
Then, the unthinkable happened again. The maternal uncle that Langdon lived with died of a sudden heart attack. Although Langdon was sad--he had begun to like the guy--he was secretly glad, because he thought that the uncle's death would mean that he would be living with Patience again. But it was not to be. The aunt and uncle whom Patience lived with made it clear that they could not take another child. With no other alternative, Langdon was placed into a foster home.
Langdon's foster parents were okay, and he liked them, but they were not as understanding as his uncle had been. He saw Patience less and less often, and it made him feel very sad, and very alone. One day, his foster father came to him and told him that they were going to another part of the state because he had received a promotion. Langdon was seized with fear, and he immediately called Patience and told her. Once again, there were mutual vows to keep in touch at any cost.
A month later, Langdon was moved along with his foster family to another part of the state. He called as often as he could, and wrote when he could, but the distances involved were not conducive to maintaining contact. One day, a letter he had written was returned to him stamped, "No longer at this address". He immediately tried to call, but the phone service had been disconnected.
With a heavy heart, Langdon realized that he had lost track of his beloved sister. He wondered when, or if, he would ever see her again. That night, as most 15 year-old boys will do, he cried in the privacy and darkness of his room.
Chapter Two
Langdon Garroway graduated with honors from high school. He was a tall, muscular young man. He had lettered in several sports. Due to his outgoing nature and quick wit, he was popular among the girls. However, at 18, he was still a virgin. He had a job working as a lifeguard for the summer. That fall, he would return to his home town to attend college. He planned to major in physical therapy. Although his foster parents, the Garroways, had often struggled for money, Langdon's trust fund, left to both he and Patience after the death of their parents, had not been touched. As such, it was ample to pay his tuition and expenses for college.
One day in late June, Langdon was working at the pool when a young woman with heavy breasts and long, thick red hair approached him on the lifeguard stand. "Hi, Langdon," she said.
"Oh, hi Bonnie," Langdon said. He knew this girl. This was Bonnie Cates. She was a bit of a tart, and Langdon knew several boys that had been with her. Up to that point, she had never shown much interest in him, though. Langdon had been mildly interested in her, and thought she was good-looking in a slightly trampy way.
