Love,
Albert
By
Lynda Simmons
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BLURB:
Sometimes
all love needs is a road trip, a rubber chicken and a touch of
magic
Vicky Ferguson loves her husband Reid, always has, always will. But with two kids to think about, it’s time for the free-wheeling, sports car loving pilot to put his feet on the ground and lay down some roots. Reid can’t imagine life without Vicky but neither can he see himself pushing a lawn mower or driving a mini-van. They’re on track to a divorce neither one wants until a last request from beloved Uncle Albert puts them on the road together one last time.
Vicky Ferguson loves her husband Reid, always has, always will. But with two kids to think about, it’s time for the free-wheeling, sports car loving pilot to put his feet on the ground and lay down some roots. Reid can’t imagine life without Vicky but neither can he see himself pushing a lawn mower or driving a mini-van. They’re on track to a divorce neither one wants until a last request from beloved Uncle Albert puts them on the road together one last time.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
EXCERPT
“Which
brings us to the issue at hand,” the lawyer said and opened a file.
“I have here the last will and testament of Albert Ferguson.
Handwritten but perfectly legal.” He leaned down and picked up
Albert’s old leather suitcase. It was the only thing the old man
ever carried – the true master of travelling light. Lyle set the
case on the desk, undid the straps and slid back the zipper. Reached
inside and came up with a pair of Groucho Marx glasses, complete with
bulbous pink nose, bushy eyebrows, and a formidable mustache.
Reid sat
forward. “Not the glasses,” he said, a smile already tugging at
his lips.
Lyle
nodded solemnly and put them on, carefully adjusting the nose over
his own before picking up the paper again. The lawyer’s delivery
was perfectly straight, if a bit nasal. “I, Albert John Ferguson,
being of sound mind and body— ”
Reid
glanced over at Vicky. She was staring at the lawyer, eyes wide, lips
pinched tightly together, holding back her laughter.
“Do
hereby bequeath all my worldly goods to my favorite nephew and niece,
Reid Allan Ferguson and Victoria Ann Ferguson, to be used as they see
fit. This includes one hand buzzer, one whoopee cushion, one pair of
Groucho glasses.” He reached into the suitcase again. “One rubber
chicken –”
“I’ll
take that.” Vicky’s face turned pink when the lawyer paused and
looked at her over the nose of the glasses. “For the kids,” she
added, and turned to Reid. “Unless you want it.”
“Not
at all.” He pointed to the suitcase. “But I’ve got dibs on the
fl y-in-the-ice-cube.”
“One
fly-in-the-ice-cube,” Lyle continued, and set it in front of Reid.
“One can of worms—”
“Snakes,”
Reid cut in. “They’re snakes.”
The
lawyer slid the can toward him and Reid popped the lid. Three long
colorful snakes sprang from the tin and flew over the desk, squeaking
as they bounced against the walls. “They were always his favorite.”
Reid smiled at Vicky. “Do you mind if I take them?”
She held
up the whoopee cushion. “Not as long as I can have this,” she
said, and Reid understood why Albert had loved her, too.
“You
can go through the rest on your own later,” Lyle said, taking off
the glasses and setting them aside. “But in return for his worldly
goods, Albert has a favor to ask.”
Reid
raised his head. “A favor?”
“More
of a decree really.” Lyle cleared his throat and resumed reading
from the will. “In return for my worldly goods, Reid and Vicky must
promise to take my remains to Seaport, Oregon. ”
The
chicken’s head bobbed as she sat up straighter. “But I thought
he’d already been buried.”
“Not
quite.” Lyle lifted a plain white shoebox out of the suitcase and
set it on the desk in front of them. “He’s been waiting for you.”
Reid
stared at the box. “That’s Albert?”
“Ashes
to ashes.” The lawyer picked up the box. “I know it’s not much
to look at, but it’s practical, sturdy, and holds up to five pounds
of loved one, no problem.” He looked from Reid to Vicky. “The
point is Albert didn’t want a fancy urn because he wasn’t
planning to spend much time in it anyway.”
Reid
shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
Lyle
smiled. “Your Uncle Albert wants to fly one last time.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR
INFORMATION:
Lynda
Simmons is a writer by day, college instructor by night and a late
sleeper on weekends. She grew up in Toronto reading Greek mythology,
bringing home stray cats and making up stories about bodies in the
basement. From an early age, her family knew she would either end up
as a writer or the old lady with a hundred cats. As luck would have
it, she married a man with allergies so writing it was.
With two
daughters to raise, Lynda and her husband moved into a lovely two
storey mortgage in Burlington, a small city on the water just outside
Toronto. While the girls are grown and gone, Lynda and her husband
are still there. And yes, there is a cat - a beautiful, if spoiled,
Birman.
When
she's not writing or teaching, Lynda gives serious thought to using
the treadmill in her basement. Fortunately, she's found that if she
waits long enough, something urgent will pop up and save her - like a
phone call or an e-mail or a whistling kettle. Or even that cat just
looking for a little more attention!
Amazon
Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Lynda-Simmons/e/B001KI3Z4O
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thank you for the excerpt, i enjoy reading it :)
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