Chapter 4

In the morning.

In the morning, the treehouse is inconvenient; no shower and we needed one. So, out the door, across the deck and over the bridge, through the portcullis, down the stairs, across the lawn that needed mowing and in the back door. The jungle ... lawn ... yard ... we need sheep or a lawn mower ... and someone to push it.

I heard Grace laugh, "I'm first."

"Wash your back?" I suggested.

"David, as much as I'd like that, you're my brother."

"Just offering."

"Just refusing."

I'll have to say this for Grace, she's not shy and I wish she were. Watching those bare breasts and cheeks of alabaster, it's been a while since she's laid out, as she stripped for the shower ... ah ... Rosie Palmer and her five daughters. I was done before Grace was.

Grace was moaning and groaning in the shower, doing what I had been doing. A mini finish and she stepped out. Clean Grace...

"Looks like you washed very thoroughly, sister mine."

"Looks like you still have a drop hanging, brother dear."

We traded places, I brushed up against her ... or she brushed against me ... does it really matter?

The water wasn't cold, but I could tell she was doing in the kitchen because the temp in the shower changed up or down as she did who knows what in there.

The bucket of ice water splashed over the top of the glass stall ... of course I shrieked ... who wouldn't.

"That's for making me think I'd done something awful to you, brat!" she hollered.

I would like to say I was steamed ... but my teeth were chattering too hard.

Ah ... yes. Morning at the Austin residence.

"Good morning, Grace." I said, "Even?"

"Good morning, David." Grace said, "Even."

"Take you out to eat?"

"Where to?"

"Bike, drive, boat ... no boat, it's hauled, fly, train?"

"Bike or walk."

"The Greasy Spoon?"

"We haven't been there in weeks. Great idea."

We walked into Best's Cafe, they've been in continuous operation since the early 1930's and they know breakfast. Not very imposing but the police and van drivers eat there. Anywhere the commercial drivers eat is bound to be good. In the few months we've been in Dunedin, Best's have treated us like humans.

It might have had something to do with my actions when we ordered coffee the first time we found the place. I can't say it was an accident because we were looking for breakfast. Their coffee was swill and I can not stomach tea in the morning.

I found the proprietor at the register and said, "If I supply the coffee and the pot will you use the beans I bring?"

"Yank are you?" he asked. I nodded. He said, "We're still under rationing but if you bring it I'll make it."

"Do you have your own grinder?" That got a nod, "I'll be right back," I hollered at Grace, "I'm going after coffee and the spare pot." I saw Grace push her cup aside with a grimace.

It's not far, in any man's book, from our house to the cafe. Twenty minutes and I was back with a fifty pound bag of roasted Jamaican #3 beans ... just a little of the 'little something' we shipped for storage ... and the spare 15 cup stainless french press ... glass is just too fragile.

Grace was making circles on the counter with her water glass. She smiled when I came in.