Swill

"I move that this park be named Connor Park," Mayor Jim Riebald called out and most in the audience cheered.

*.*.*

"Daddy," Hope called out, entering the plantation's front foyer. "Grandpa, we're here."

Hope cradled Greta Duncan in her arms as she walked through the living room. She smiled; she could hear her father's old Hank Williams music playing softly in his office.

"Know what happens when you play a country song backward?" Hope called out. "You get your job back, your wife back, your truck back, your dog back."

The laughter died in Hope's throat as she saw sixty two year old Samuel Connor, slumped down in his overstuffed chair. She had begged him to get rid of the chair; the leather was split, the stuffing was poking out, one wheel kept wiggling out of its seating.

"Silly, this is the chair that your mommy told me we were having your sister in," Samuel would always smile. "I'll get rid of this chair when I see your mother again. And not one damned minute before."

Hope put Greta into the playpen Grandpa had in his office and cautiously approached her father. 'I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry' warbled out of the speakers on Samuel's desk.

"Daddy?" Hope begged, reaching out her hand to touch his cold, lifeless hand.

*.*.*

Twenty nine year old Hope was the executrix of Samuel Connor's will. As a precaution, she did retain the services of Jimmy Riebald, Jr. an attorney that practiced law in Clarkston County. Jimmy sat in as Hope read out the disbursement of her father's estate.

"This is bullshit!" Sammy screamed when he learned that he would be receiving ten percent of Samuel Everett Connor, Sr. stocks in Connor Shipping, Connor Equipment & Supplies, and Gratchley's Brewery, Inc. "I'm his son! I should be getting fifty percent at least!"

"Ahem, actually?" Jimmy Riebald, Jr. said, clearing his throat as he flipped open a file folder. "It turns out? You are not Samuel Everett Connor's son. Here are three separate DNA analysis reports; each performed by a different laboratory that specialize in DNA analysis."

"Plus that, didn't you tell Daddy you hated him?" Faith asked. "Didn't you tell him you wanted nothing to do with him?"

"In light of his knowledge, I'd say Daddy was being very generous to you," Hope offered. "Your ten percent in Gratchley's alone will provide you dividends of at least one to two thousand every month."

"One to...how in the fuck can I live off of that?" Sammy screamed, outraged.

"Uh, get a job?" Faith suggested.

"Go to Hell," Sammy snarled bitterly at the two women.

"Moving right along," Hope said. "In the matter of one Connor Plantation and its contents..."

Hope shook her head as the door of the office slammed shut. To her left, Douglas Duncan, her husband shook his head and continued to rock Greta as the child napped.

"Oh, thank God," Faith said when Hope read that the home was to go to Greta Irene Duncan, his first born grandchild.

"Come on, you didn't want it?" Hope teased her sister.

"You kidding? With Mom walking around the house? No, thank, you," Faith shuddered.

"You the only one ever seen her ghost," Hope said.

"I'm telling you, she lives there," Faith said. "Wait. Just you wait, you'll see her, sooner or later. You going see her."

THE END

**Author's Notes: I write these stories for my pleasure; I post them here for your enjoyment. I thank you sincerely for reading my stories. I especially thank those that take the time to leave comments, good and bad. I also thank those that take the time to rate my words, and those that 'Favorite' my stories.

Oddly enough, this story has no reoccurring characters. No one from any of my other stories make a cameo, or contributes in any way shape or form to this story. The beer name, the town name, and the name of the park do appear in "Am I?" in the Lesbian Sex category. And I am sure, we'll see more people drinking the cheap swill.

Have a swell day. And some of you, have a swollen day.