The Birthday Present
Rylie Sampson-Smith cracked an eyelid and peering from beneath the covers, saw that the morning sun was filling her bedroom with light. She briefly squeezed the lid shut due to the brightness, then blinked several times and shifted. Lifting her head from the pillow, she glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand and saw it was 8:15 am. The open French doors that led to the spacious patio next to the large pool that filled most of what would be considered the backyard of her spacious Palm Desert home, allowed a breeze to push at the lace curtains and she heard the entrancing melody of the wind chimes just outside, hanging from the eve of the roof.
She'd left the doors open to enjoy the coolness of the desert winter night. She also noticed the breeze had swept away the sultry humidity that had been a rare occurrence from the previous evening. Letting her head fall back onto the plush pillow, she smiled to herself, as the previous might's party had been a success. Rolling onto her back and arching it to stretch her arms wide, she yawned loudly. She felt completely refreshed from her night's rest and hoped Craig, her stepson had as well. She remembered hearing him and her friends going to the pool deck shower around 2 am.
'I think they enjoyed themselves,' she thought. Although they were a few years younger than her 34, Kaitlin was a vivacious 6'2" with long, shapely legs and shoulder length, golden blonde hair worn in a ponytail, bright blue eyes, head turning good looks and a bubbly personality. Chuckling to herself she quipped, "I just didn't know she couldn't swim."
Her other friend Sheri was as feisty as she was petite, at 5'5", with bright pink hair wore in a short and sassy pixie bob cut, a lithe athletic build with perky breasts and amazing tattoos.
'Shit,' she thought as she chuckled aloud, 'What 21-year-old, young stud wouldn't have a hell of a time.'
Throwing back the bed coverings, she stretched again and admired the contrast of her deep, chocolate brown skin to the stark whiteness of the satin sheets that adorned the king size bed she laid upon. She was naked and with a thought admitted, 'Of course, I'm no slouch myself.' The cool breeze wafting into the room caused her nipples to constrict to rock harness, she ran her delicate hands over her breasts, which were the size of large grapefruits, and brushing the bullet-sized nipples and the brownish-black skin of the areolas that were the size of silver dollars, enjoyed the tingling sensation that coursed through her body in response. She then traced her fingertips down her flat tummy, to between her legs and let them glide along her vulva and briefly stimulated her clit.
Pushing up onto her elbows she glanced down at herself. She too was tall, at 5'11" and model perfect looks. Thinking back on the previous night's frivolity, she mused that Craig must've thought she was good looking as well by his comments.
She sat up and rolled her head in a slow circle and rolled her shoulders. Crossing her legs, she used both hands to rub her short, frizzy hair. Craig was her stepson and with a wistful smile, recalled how she and her two friends had helped him celebrate his 21
st
birthday. Chuckling aloud, she said, "Damn! It's hard to believe all of this started with a box full of cards."
18-Months Before...
She'd knocked on her stepson's bedroom door quietly and asked, "Craig, do you mind if I come in?"
It was a bright summer day in Palm Desert, and she was dressed in a teal sports bra, snug white tank top, cut-off jean short shorts and sandals. She had to drive to neighboring Riverside to start sifting through family property before she sold her mom's house.
"What do you want," came the annoyed, muffled response.
Rolling her eyes and stifling a curse, she opened the door to see Craig Smith sitting shirtless at a desk next to his unmade bed. He had a trim physique and a bushy head of black hair. It was amazing how like his father he looked, she'd thought.
Typical of a late teenaged male, the room looked as if a cyclone had swept through it, with the desk he was sitting at cluttered with several stack of cards, college books, note pads and his lap top computer. The bed and floor next to the desk contained long white carboard boxes of other cards. To top things off, clothes were scattered about the floor, leaving little room to step safely and not worry about being injured or catching something.
Forcing herself not to explode, she took a deep breath of the dank air of the room, smiled, and calmly said, "I could use your help today," and trying to sweeten the deal, offered, "I'll buy you lunch."
Sneering he hissed, "Shit! Can't you see I'm busy!"
He went onto explain that he had better things to do and wanted to spend the day organizing some cards he had just acquired, hoping to then sell for a profit. He then stated he was going out with his girlfriend later.
Leaning on the doorknob she replied flatly, "Fine," and then asked, "Can you at least clean your room up?"
He rolled his eyes, cursed, and said, "Yeah. Whatever," and dismissively waved a hand at her.
"You shouldn't be treating me like this," she spat back, "I'm your mother."
"Stepmother," Craig derisively corrected.
Turning to close the door a little louder than what she had wanted to, she shouted, "Just clean it up, please."
As she walked down the hall, she cursed herself for losing another battle. She'd hoped to start learning about the son that she had gained after recently marrying an older widower, who had a son. Mike was an Executive in a high-tech company. He was a caring and thoughtful husband, but spent quite a bit of time traveling, as part of his job.
She had been a model and they had met the previous summer in Lake Tahoe, Nevada. She'd been there on a shoot for one of the casinos and they had met in one of the many night clubs in the tourist town. Things had clicked, they fell in love with and before she knew it, they were getting married on a beach in Maui.
She'd met Craig during their courtship, and he was aloof as most teenagers tended to be. He was cordial, but ever since the wedding, his behavior had slowly switched to passive aggressive. 'It's because he thinks I'm stealing his father from his mom,' she had to remind herself, as she picked up her keys and purse from the table near the door to the garage. 'Give it time,' she heard Mike's counseling voice.
The three-car garage was becoming hot, as the midday sun began to beat down on the roof above. She climbed into her Honda Pilot and on starting it, cranked the air conditioning to full, to begin cooling off. She was grateful for the one-hour drive to Riverside as it gave her a chance to calm down. She resisted the urge to call Mike, as she knew this was her battle to fight not his.
Turning on the stereo, she listened to a classic rock station and thought aloud, "God! There's got to be some way to find some common ground with him," as she slapped the steering wheel in frustration.
She used the drive through the rugged high desert of southern California to calm herself. Shifting her thoughts from Craig, she pondered what was ahead of her that day. Her mother had passed away a few months before and she had paid a property management company to maintain it, but she'd decided to finally sell the homeplace. Reaching her right hand down to pat her purse, she'd remembered to bring a lot of Kleenex, as she knew that this was going to be an emotional day. She allowed the dulcet tones of the Eagles, Foreigner, Styx, and other bands to take down her down an avenue of memories.
She was the only one left from her branch of the Sampson family. She had little recollection of her father other than family photos she'd seen and knew would still be adorned around the house. Grimacing and wiping at a few tears that leaked from her eyes, she recalled that a drunk driver had killed him when she was young.
In her mind, he had been a gentle giant. Her petite mother had always told her that's where her and her brother had received most of their genes. From what she knew, her dad had been a hardworking man, who had served in the Navy and settled in San Diego, where he had met Cecilia Gregory, as strikingly beautiful as she was small. They had settled in humble little Riverside, back in the day when it was transforming from a dusty crossroads to a vibrant suburb of nearby Palm Desert and as a general contractor, he had been quite successful.
Heaving a deep sigh, she recalled that in the late 1990's he had been hit head-on by a drunk driver and instantly killed. It shattered their world and forced her older brother Jerome to grow up early. He rose to the challenge, setting aside the hobbies that had consumed his teenaged life to support them. Where her dad had graduated from the school of hard knocks to become a success, Jerome applied and was accepted at Cal Poly to become a Mechanical Engineer on a full ride scholarship. Graduating at the top of his class in the early 2000's, he'd hired-on with a successful company, which had landed a contract to rebuild Iraq, in the wake of its liberation from dictatorship. Sadly, he too died before his time, as he was killed by an improvised explosive device, as he was rebuilding a bridge near Tikrit.
Mom had lived off the insurance money, as they owned the house free and clear. When she'd suffered a debilitating stroke, Mike had helped her with making the arrangements for long-term care. They had moved her from Riverside to Palm Desert and she all but gave up her modeling career to help care for her. With Mike traveling and Craig playing the role of a walking storm cloud, she would've been all alone if it hadn't been for a small group of girlfriends, she knew from her fashion and travel days.
Her old home was just a few minutes from the interstate. Driving from memory, she took the off ramp and then drove the remaining distance, as the memories of her youth continued to flood her thoughts. The neighborhood friends, going to school, the holiday celebrations, and growing up. Each place she saw as she drove, seemed to cause a memory of a past event to explode within her head. As she pulled onto Apricot Drive, she was wiping tears from her eyes. When she pulled into the driveway of her old home, try as she might her emotions won and after parking the Pilot, sat behind the wheel for several moments and cried. She earnestly desired her husband to be there to comfort and encourage her.
After several moments, she cursed herself and then stepped out of the car. Glancing around, she saw that except for a few minor changes, it was as if she had exited a time machine. Using a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, she looked the house and yard over. She could see that although it had been maintained, some work would be needed to enhance the curb appeal. She spent several hours in the sweltering interior of the house cataloging assorted items and making a list of upgrades and repairs that would be needed. Each room contained one or more memories that caused her to cry.
