1. The Last Flight. Chapter 21


    Date: 7/18/2015, Categories: Lesbian, Author: Annamagique, Rating: 8, Source: LushStories

    The weekend came and went before I had the chance to blink. I think it was probably the best weekend of my life, even though it had got off to a shaky start. I felt bad at first that I had thought my father was capable of murder, but he explained that I had every reason to accept that he had done it. I had been raised in a violent household and he admitted that it was only due to the love and protection that my mother ensured I received that I had turned out the way I had. The next few weeks I saw him more. It was not easy for him to get to Limoges. He had no car and the train journey was long but still he made sure that he was not a stranger. He was even more a changed man. The relief he felt at having such a burden lifted from him was visible to all. His outward appearance of normality and joy was no longer an effort for him to project for my benefit but was now genuine, as if he could once more enjoy life without many of the burdens that had so very nearly destroyed him. Before I knew it, the days began to get shorter as the summer faded and Autumn approached. I had given up my crutches soon after and was able to use a stick for support as I walked often around the garden in the warm sunshine. My leg healed well and, within a few weeks I was able to walk unaided and with a negligible limp, my dreams had become less frequent and I felt well and rested. One evening, towards the middle of September, I was sitting in a deckchair under the shade of an apple tree when Françoise ...
    appeared and sat beside me. She said nothing at first but kept looking at me as if there was something on her mind. Something she wanted, no, had, to say. I didn't push her but I had a feeling I knew what it was. Finally she spoke. "I have to write a report for your Airline, as I have every month since you came here. It was part of the agreement.” “Yes, I know.” I replied. “You have to tell them I am well now.” “Yes,” she said sadly. “I will have to go home, I know that,” I spoke gently, my heart heavy. “We always knew that this day would come, Françoise.” “I just wanted to tell you, you know, before I send it.” I took her hand. “I owe you my life. Without you I have no idea what may have come of me.” She squeezed my fingers. “Karen, you owe me nothing. You are almost like a daughter to me. The pleasure you have brought to this family is reward enough and seeing you fight back to health and the effect it has had on your father too, is wonderful.” We sat quietly for a moment and I reflected on all that had happened since that fateful day in June. After a moment or two, Françoise spoke again, lying back in her deck chair and looking up into the branches of the tree. “Your father will be here again tonight, for the weekend, so I will delay posting until Monday when I return to work.” “Do you like my Dad, Françoise?” I asked her. She smiled and, still without moving, answered slowly. “Yes,” she said, “I do.” “I am glad,” I said, closing my eyes. “I think that you two are probably ...
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