Chapter 8

Kevin Butcher:

God looked just like Gunnery Sergeant Hartman from the movie Full Metal Jacket. Don’t ask me how I knew this was God. When it’s your turn to meet him, trust me—you’ll know. God wore a green Class A service uniform complete with a campaign hat. His ribbons, and he had a lot of ribbons, were unlike any I’d ever seen before.

He said, “I would have appreciated a little help back there.” God even sounded like R. Lee Ermey.

“Sir?”

“You froze instead of moving, and, son, you know better.”

“Sir, no excuse, sir!”

He sighed and snapped his head to the left. His eyes tracked something off in the distance. I wanted to turn my head as well, but I didn’t dare. When it’s your turn to stand tall on God’s own quarterdeck, you can rubberneck all you like.

Before I knew it, God faced me again, and this time his eyes bored into mine. A firm, but gentle awareness riffled through my memories. Long forgotten experiences flickered past like a high-speed slide show. The recent memories of my time with Rebecca seemed to draw the most interest. The slide show ended with a memory of doctors and nurses lifting me onto an operating table.

God smiled and said, “Son, you’ve done well.”

The vision faded away.

Late Sunday Night, Berks County Hospital:

Scuffling footsteps sounded from the hallway, and a man entered the waiting room. He carried a clipboard and wore sweat stained and rumpled hospital scrubs. Without looking up, he called out, “Mrs. Rebecca Butcher?”

Rebecca glanced at her mother who shrugged. Rachel said, “We can sort out your name later.” They both stood, and the man stepped up to them.

He said, “I’m Doctor Ed Boddicker. Mrs. Butcher, your husband’s heart stopped shortly after we got him on the operating table.”

Rebecca gasped. Her knees weakened, and she would have fallen if her mother hadn’t caught her. A second later, the doctor also reached out. He and Rachel eased Rebecca back down onto the plastic chair.

“I’m so sorry. It’s been a long day and I...” The doctor’s words came out in a rush. “Mrs. Butcher, your husband is fine. Yes, his heart stopped, but we revived him right away. We gave him several units of whole blood, repaired the damage, and pumped him full of antibiotics. Right now, our main concern is an infection. He’ll need physical therapy, of course, but his physical condition is excellent. I believe he’ll have a full recovery.”

Her face tight, Rachel asked, “When can my daughter see her ... husband?”

“We’ll transfer him to a room when we’re sure he’s stable. I’ll ask a nurse to come and take you to him.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

The doctor nodded, and with his obligations fulfilled, scurried away.

Rachel glared at the surgeon as he left. “Bless his heart,” she murmured. It didn’t sound kind at all. She turned back to her daughter. “Praise God. Kevin is alive!” She sat and squeezed Rebecca’s hand.

A short time later, a surgical nurse stepped over to Rebecca and Rachel. “Mrs. Butcher?”

“Yes?” Rebecca said. She and Rachel stood.

“Your husband is fine. They’ll be taking him to his room in a few minutes. I’ll take you there if you’re ready?”

Early Monday Morning, Berks County Hospital

Kevin Butcher:

There was no light, but sound approached complete with a Doppler shift as if it came at speed from a great distance. BEEeep ... beep.

The beeping sounds reminded me of the night when I found Rebecca playing a game on her iPhone. Earlier in the day, she had found an old stash of scented candles. After lighting most of them, the inside of our trailer smelled like fresh baked sugar cookies. Rebecca, clad in nothing but my old, red USMC T-shirt and her white footie socks, lay across our bed playing Gummy Drop.

Beep ... beep.

I could smell the sugar cookie scented candles. The beeping sounds from the game were loud, but everything was black.

As if someone threw a switch, cold, dry air registered on my face and arms. The sweet vanilla scent of sugar cookies vanished, replaced by that of ... disinfectant? Not wanting to lose Rebecca, I reached for where I thought she’d be, but my arms wouldn’t move.

“Kev? Kevin? Momma, he’s waking up,” Rebecca said.

I opened my eyes. Rebecca and her mother stood next to me, and I lay on a hospital bed. The beeping sounds came from a cardiac monitor.

“Hey.” I croaked. My throat felt so dry it hurt.

“Oh, Kevin!” Tears ran down Rebecca’s face. She bent over and kissed me. Her tears smudged against my cheek. I remembered getting shot and I felt like shit for making her cry.

Rachel said, “I’ll tell the nurse Kevin is awake.”

My sore throat caused my voice to sound hoarse and raspy, I said, “Don’t cry.”

Rebecca straightened up and dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “You almost died. I can be upset about that.” She blotted my cheek with the damp tissue and smoothed my hair back. “How do you feel?”

How did I feel? The question made me focus on myself. My left thigh throbbed with each heartbeat. Everything else merely ached, and I desperately needed a drink of water. “Thirsty and a little tired.”

Rebecca reached for a plastic water glass. “Here,” she said and guided a drinking straw to my lips.

While I sipped the ice-cold water, Rachel reentered the room. The water eased the pain in my throat. I asked, “Is everyone OK?”

Before Rebecca could answer, Rachel said, “Only you and Rebecca were hurt. She—”

“What?” I tried to sit up, but the tubes and wires made it difficult to move. I reached for Rebecca. “You’re hurt?”

“I’m fine, Kev.” Rebecca set the plastic cup of water on the nightstand. Then she glared at her mother.

Rachel said, “She is not fine. Rebecca sprained her foot when she kicked the handgun away from Mr. Hanslein. She’ll wear a support boot for a few weeks.”

A nurse came in. She took my vitals and asked me about the pain. I admitted my leg hurt. A few minutes later she came back and gave me a shot of morphine. “This,” she said, “might make you sleepy.”

Within a few minutes, I felt warm and loopy. I fell asleep a few minutes later. Well, I thought I fell asleep, but I found out later: before I fell asleep, I invited Rachel to join me in bed.

After Kevin fell back asleep, Rebecca straightened out his blankets. She said, “I’m sorry about what Kevin said, Momma, he wasn’t himself.”

Rachel smiled. “The important thing is that he’s out of danger.”

Rebecca reached out to a dispenser on the bedside cabinet and removed another tissue. She wiped her eyes. “But Kevin died. They brought him back, but ... Momma, I’m not so sure I want to wait to start our family.”

“Well, I think you should put it off until he’s out of the hospital.”

“Momma!” Rebecca’s ears turned pink. “I didn’t mean we’d start today.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Rachel put her arm around her daughter and kissed the top of her head. “You’ve always been my bright ray of sunshine. Kevin will need your help if he’s to get well. Wait until the right moment, and tell him you want his baby, that’ll get his attention.”

Mother chuckled while her daughter blushed an outrageous shade of red.

Early Monday Morning, Schmidt Farm

Major John Pittsenbargar searched for and found Jonathan Schmidt. Schmidt stood in the pool of light at the taped-off entrance to his milk parlor. The light over the door had about a bajillion bugs flying around it. Pittsenbargar approached the farmer and introduced himself. As they shook hands, Jonathan studied the state trooper and said, “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

“I’m surprised you remember, it must have been twenty years ago.”

“You married Verna Miller, Naomi’s cousin.”

Memories of Naomi kept both men silent for a few moments. Then Pittsenbargar said, “Naomi would still be alive if she had married you.”

“You think she’s dead?”

“We both know the man her father forced upon her. What do you think?”

Jonathan shook his head and looked out into the darkness. “Naomi deserved better.” He turned back to Pittsenbargar. “What’s going to happen now?”

“Well, I expect our friend Klaus will have a bad time. His pet lawyer will put up a fight, but we have a strong case, and it’s going to get stronger. One thing you may not be aware of concerns your future son-in-law. If he survives, he may be in some trouble as well.”

“Why is that?”

“He killed two men and seriously injured two others. We have a rough timeline of the events, and it almost looks like a military operation. Mr. Butcher took out three sentries with a brutal efficiency. I’ll write my report saying he didn’t have any other options. It’ll be up to the DA though, he may choose to prosecute.”

“I’ll pray the District Attorney doesn’t do so. Kevin is a good man. I think God intended Kevin and my daughter to be together.”

Pittsenbargar glanced at his watch. “I still need statements from your wife and daughter, and a Deborah Barie.”

“Deborah should be in the kitchen. Go around to the back and knock on the door.”

“Mrs. Barie? I’m Major John Pittsenbargar, and I need to take your statement.”

The woman looked him up and down. He must have passed her inspection because she nodded. “Well, you better come in then. I have chores to attend to, but you can ask questions or whatever, while I work.”

John smiled as the woman turned her back and walked to the stove. He found himself liking her no-nonsense attitude. Sure, she may carry a few extra pounds, but some women were built for comfort and not for speed. Mrs. Deborah Barie looked comfortable.

She said, “Take a seat at the table if you like. Should I call you Officer, or something else?”

“Actually ma’am, it’s Major or Trooper, but I wouldn’t mind if you called me John.”

“Major Pittsenbargar then. Would you like something to drink?”

“Thank you, but I have coffee.” He sat, and spread out his writing materials. While Mrs. Barie waited for him to begin, he opened his thermos. “I’d offer you a cup,” he said, “but it isn’t fresh.” There also wasn’t enough to fill his thermos cup, and it was cold.

Mrs. Barie noticed his grimace. She stepped over to him and held out her hand. “Give me your thermos, I’ll refill it.”

Bemused at her no-nonsense command, he passed her his thermos.

John asked his questions while the woman worked. She filled an old metal stove-top percolator with water, ran fresh beans through a hand-cranked mill, filled the basket, and set it up on the stove. Then she rinsed out his thermos, then set it to soak with hot water and a spoonful of baking soda. Mrs. Barie noted his curiosity and told him, “The baking soda removes old odors and freshens the inside.” While doing all this, she fielded his questions and found the time to make him a damned fine meatloaf sandwich.

It turned out that Mrs. Deborah Barie was thirty-four years old and widowed. An unprofessional twinge of interest popped up when he learned of her marital status. Before the coffee finished percolating, Deborah again rinsed out his thermos, filled it with boiling water, and set it to soak up the heat. She did all this while detailing the entire evening from her perspective. When she finished speaking, she turned and saw him staring at her with an expression of frank interest.

That look made her feel uneasy. It wasn’t proper. A man should not leer at a married woman, widowed or not. Still, she noticed a slow, but unwelcome buildup of warmth inside of her. Well, soon enough she’d shoo this man out the door. Later perhaps she’d take a shower, a cold shower.

Monday Morning: Hanslein Hunting Cabin,

Several hours later, Pittsenbargar stood outside of the “alleged” Hanslein hunting cabin. He remembered his thermos and opened it. The aroma of good strong coffee wafted up to tickle his nostrils. John had to sip it with care to prevent burning his mouth. The coffee tasted heavenly, rich and roasty, smooth with hints of dark chocolate. “My God, he exclaimed aloud, “this coffee is fantastic.”

“Major?” One of his investigators asked.

“I think I’m in love. I found a young, attractive widow who makes great coffee.”

“Major?” a different voice called out from the heavily wooded back yard. With regret, Pittsenbargar set his cup down inside of his cruiser and walked to the back of the property.

The two K9 officers, along with their dogs, stood back in the trees. One of the officers held a shovel. “My dog alerted on this patch of ground. I thought the perps might have buried a cache, but...” The trooper pointed into the hole with his flashlight.

In the bottom of the foot-deep hole, Pittsenbargar saw a shredded layer of plastic tarp. Underneath the torn plastic lay a skeletonized human hand.

John said, “Well, well, well. Klaus Hanslein, you have made my day.” He straightened and issued orders. “Everyone currently on site stays here until I release them. I do not want this leaked to the press.” Everyone nodded. “Fine, I have to make some calls.”

Monday Morning, Berks County Courthouse:

District Attorney Jefferson hadn’t yet touched his cup of coffee when the desk phone rang. He considered taking a quick sip, but duty overruled his desire. He lifted the handset and said, “DA Jefferson, how may I help you?”

“This is Pittsenbargar. I’m at the cabin, and I need another search warrant.”

“Would this be the cabin ‘allegedly’ owned by Klaus Hanslein Senior?”

“Yes sir, one of the detection dogs alerted on a patch of ground behind the cabin.”

“Major, you already have a search warrant for drugs.”

“Yes sir, we partially excavated and instead of drugs, we found human remains.”

When it rained, it poured.

District Attorney Jefferson couldn’t speak for a moment. He shook his head. “Major, I woke this morning thinking the case against Hanslein couldn’t get better.”

“What should I do sir?”

“I’ll talk to a judge and get you another warrant. Hold tight until then.”

“Yes, sir.”

Monday Morning, Berks County Hospital:

The Pennsylvania State Police took over security for Klaus Hanslein Senior. Three troopers, commanded by a lieutenant, displaced the single local police officer.

Klaus Senior scowled but said nothing as the troopers shackled his ankles and wrists to the bed frame.

John Waters arrived an hour before the official visiting hours began. He identified himself and stated his intention to speak with his client.

The lieutenant said, “Major Pittsenbargar told me to expect you. I’ll search your briefcase, and Trooper Todd will pat you down.”

Waters nodded and waited while the police carried out their search.

The battered condition of his client caused John Waters to stop and stare. Bruises, livid blue, yellow, and a sickening shade of purple covered much of his client’s exposed skin. The doctors had bandaged and immobilized Klaus’s left shoulder and leg. Senior looked as though he’d gone head first through a car’s windshield and then had the same car flip over on top of him.

“Oh my God! Klaus, did the police do all this to you?” Waters waved his free hand to indicate the entirety of his client’s injuries.

“That fucking maniac Butcher did it.” The stitches in Senior’s upper and lower lips made his words difficult to understand. “I want charges pressed against him, and I want to sue him. Make it happen.”

“We can talk about a lawsuit after you’re acquitted. The Pennsylvania Castle Doctrine will protect Mr. Butcher until then.”

“Shit, how soon can you get me out?”

“You’ll need to stand in front of a judge first. If the doctor releases you in the next hour or so, they may arraign you today. If not, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Don’t get your hopes up, the DA is not going to want you to post bond. He’ll say you are a flight risk. This is not going to be easy.”

“I don’t pay you for easy. You got to get me out, before...” Klaus didn’t finish, they both knew he would be tied to the drugs at the cabin soon enough.

“I’ll push for bail during the arraignment, but the DA’s office has fourteen days to write the charges against you. I expect they’ll petition for a grand jury. My best guess is you’ll be looking at false imprisonment, extortion, and involuntary manslaughter. They may add more. I can’t even begin to plan your defense until they finalize the charges.”

“What have they charged Butcher with?” Klaus snarled. “That maniac killed at least two men, not to mention what he did to me.”

Waters sighed. You couldn’t reason with Klaus when he behaved like this. The lawyer stood and walked towards the door. He stopped before opening the door. “I’ll check with the doctors. What about Junior? Is there anything I need to do about him?”

“Nah, I took care of it the other day.”

Waters nodded and left.

Kevin Butcher:

My lawyer arrived at 8AM. He looked me over and tsked several times. I introduced Rebecca and invited him to have a seat. Before he sat, he nodded towards Rebecca. He asked, “Have you two married yet?”

“No, not yet,” I replied.

He turned towards Rebecca. “I’m sorry, but would you mind stepping out for a few minutes? As you and Kevin aren’t married, a court could compel you to testify against him.” Rebecca nodded and left. She said she’d take a walk.

My lawyer took out a notepad and grilled me. We went over everything that happened. We spent the most time discussing the two men I killed and the third who died later last night. We also discussed the fight with Senior, and I had to remember everything said during the fight.

“I’ll interview everyone else who was there and prepare your defense,” he said.

“Why do I need a defense? I was defending the Schmidts. Pennsylvania has the castle doctrine.”

“True, and if necessary we’ll use it in your defense, but it doesn’t prevent the DA from bringing charges. Until I tell you different, do not say anything to the police. Do not make a statement. Refer them to me, got it?”

I got it.

Early Wednesday Morning, Berks County Hospital

Kevin Butcher:

The rock skipped across the driveway, and the man spun towards the sound. I launched myself towards his unprotected back and triggered my stolen switchblade. At the crunch of my foot hitting the gravel, the man stopped his spin. My other foot crunched down, and he began to turn towards me. He was too slow, and it was all too easy. With brutal efficiency, I clamped my left hand over his mouth, and my right hand thrust the knife blade into his throat. The tip of the blade scraped against bone, and I sawed the blade out and away from me. Hot blood sprayed into the cool night air. Droplets speckled my arm. The man may have tried to scream, but all I heard was a gurgling choking exhalation. Finished with the knife, I dropped it and rode him to the ground. He made a few feeble attempts to unseat me. I ignored his death sounds while I planned the next step.

“Kevin? Kev?” Confusion set in. Rebecca’s voice didn’t belong here. Nor did the warm form pressed against my back. The dry, cool hospital air replaced the hot, coppery, reek of blood. My eyes opened. Rebecca had snuck into bed with me again. She must have felt me stir because her soft lips pressed against the back of my neck. She slipped out of bed, and my sweat dampened back felt chilled. I rolled over and caught her hand as she straightened out my covers.

“Hey,” I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

I sighed. “Was it bad?” Sometimes I could get kind of loud.

“I didn’t let it get bad.” She paused, then asked. “Was it the new dream?”

“Yeah, the new dream,” The scent of blood so strong I could taste it. I thought of a question I had been afraid to ask. “How are your parents dealing with me killing those men?”

“Hmm, they haven’t said anything to me. Even Aunt Deborah’s been quiet about it.”

“What about you, does it bother you?”

“I don’t worry about it. Momma and I are safe. You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

“What about your foot? Does it still hurt?”

“It’s getting better.” She bent down and kissed me. “You worry too much.”

“That night, I kind of went berserk because I was afraid of losing you. Now I’m afraid of losing you because I went berserk.”

She didn’t say anything right away. We both knew the specter of Mennonite pacifism waited in the wings. “Kev, my eighteenth birthday is only a few weeks away. If anything like that happens, I’ll leave home and move in with you. We can marry anytime, or not.” She grinned. “I’ll even be your kept woman. If anyone doesn’t like it, they can ... they can go to heck!”

My surprise must have been plain because Rebecca leaned down and kissed me again. She said, “I worry about your dreams, you should talk to someone.”

“The Navy doctors told me the same thing. I could call the VA and see what they offer.”

“Good, but you know...” She bent and kissed me again. “I don’t mind getting in bed with you. To help with your nightmares—or for anything else.”

“Ohhh, I need to get out of here.”

Thursday, Schmidt Farm

Interlude:

Jonathan and Rachel stepped off their front porch to meet the late middle-aged couple walking towards them. “Mom, Dad,” Rachel said. “I’m so glad you could come up to visit.”

Sarah and Abram Weigel embraced their daughter and then their son-in-law.

Sarah said, “We had hoped to be here and help celebrate Rebecca’s wedding.”

“However,” Abram said, “we’re glad to be here in case you need help with anything.” He turned his head to inspect the area. He noted the patch of fresh gravel near the opening to the lane. “We read about Sunday night in the newspaper. It must have been a terrible trial.”

“It would have been a tragedy if Kevin hadn’t been here,” Jonathan said. “Abram, I have work to do. You’re welcome to come along.”

“Rebecca isn’t here?” asked Sarah. She glanced around the kitchen while her daughter fixed their tea.

“She’s at the hospital visiting with Kevin.”

“Deborah isn’t here either. Is she chaperoning Rebecca?”

“Goodness, no. Deborah is attending a church fellowship. She doesn’t chaperone Rebecca and Kevin any more. Those two are fine left alone together.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “Like you were with Jonathan?”

“Mother! Jonathan and I behaved ourselves.”

“Those nights when Jonathan called on you, Abram and I would set the kitchen timer to remind us to check up on you.”

Rachel blushed remembering those nights. “I remember the timer going off. Jonathan thought you were baking.”

Sarah smiled while taking a sip of tea. She said, “Back when you and Jonathan were courting, there were times that I couldn’t wait for you to have a daughter of your own.”

“Jonathan and I weren’t that bad, until the end—were we?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Growing up, you exhibited all the signs of an intelligent and sensible young lady. Then you met ‘Jonathan.’” Sarah’s voice mimicked her daughter’s playful pronunciation of Jonathan’s name. “Once you met him your sensibility packed up and left. Your father and I had bets on whether you’d stay out of trouble before getting married. I’ll let you guess who won.”

“But, it wasn’t ... we didn’t ... until...”

“I will say that your idea to allow Rebecca and Kevin to bundle might be one of your more sensible ideas. They’ll keep out of mischief with you and Jonathan right down the hallway.”

“Well, about that...”

“You didn’t have them in your guest bedroom?”

“We did at first, but with Jonathan’s sister visiting, we allowed Rebecca to bundle with Kevin out in his travel trailer.”

“Oh ... well, I guess that horse has left the barn.”

Rachel lifted her cup and took a sip of tea. “No, Mother, that horse is still in its stall. Rebecca and I have real talks. She and Kevin decided to save their horseback riding for after the wedding.”

“Hmm, Rebecca must have inherited her father’s sense. Abram and I should pay Rebecca and Kevin a visit.”

Thursday, Berks County Hospital

Nurse Thompson looked up to see the nice young woman “married” to the gunshot patient in 515. She said, “Mrs. Butcher, what can I do for you?”

“My husband needs a shower.”

“Husbands often do. One moment please, and I’ll check the shower schedule.” Nurse Thompson lifted a clipboard and examined the top sheet of paper. “The shower room is free for the next hour. Your husband may use it, but I don’t have an aide available to assist him.”

“Oh ... what about me, can I assist him?”

The nurse thought about the question. The nurses maintained the Mr. and Mrs. Butcher fiction because they liked the young couple, but “Mrs. Butcher” clearly belonged to one of the more conservative religious sects. Nurse Thompson said, “I don’t have a problem with it, but will you be all right?”

Mrs. Butcher’s cheeks tinted a bit, but she said, “I’ll be fine.”

“Avoid spraying water directly onto his wound. There are plenty of clean towels, pajamas, and robes on the shelves. There are even scrubs you can wear.” The nurse touched her own scrub top. “If you wear scrubs, you won’t get your clothing wet.”

“Thank you.”

“Please put the used towels and linens into the marked bins. Oh, one more thing, the shower room door has a lock.”

Kevin Butcher:

“Shower time, Kevin.”

I looked up to an apparition of Rebecca dressed as a nurse. Blue hospital scrubs replaced her pretty pink patterned A-line skirt and off-white blouse. My pulse quickened; until now I didn’t know I had a thing for nurses. “Nurse” Rebecca helped me stand and handed me my crutches. I navigated into the hallway, my unfamiliarity with crutches made it slow going. I said, “This will be a first,”

“You’ve had showers before.”

“But not with you. It might be more than I can handle.”

“I’m going to wash you, not shower with you. Don’t be a goose.”

We crossed the hallway, and after Rebecca opened the door for me, I crutched my way inside. The lights snapped on after I passed across the threshold. “Whoa!” I said. This room held the largest shower stall I had ever seen: large enough to accommodate the transfer of a patient from a wheelchair to a shower chair. The shower stall itself resembled a large, high-ceilinged, ceramic-tiled alcove. The walls featured multiple shower heads, both hand-held and fixed. The ceiling supported two mechanical lifts. I glanced at Rebecca and said, “I wonder if we can borrow this shower while we’re on our honeymoon.”

She turned to me, and with exaggerated concern said, “You promised we’d have a simple honeymoon. There better not be anything weird in our bathroom.”

I waggled my eyebrows and Rebecca blushed, then we both laughed.

Wire shelves with stacks of clean hospital-issue pajamas and scrubs stood against the wall. After ensuring I wouldn’t fall over, Rebecca turned to the shelves. As she bent over to pick up some towels, her scrub bottoms pulled up tight across her buttocks.

“Oh my ... goodness,” I said.

“Is something wrong?” She glanced back over her shoulder. I didn’t look up in time, and she caught me ogling her behind. My blunder earned me a stern look, but I noticed the hint of a smile. While helping me undress, she asked. “What is so fascinating about my bottom?”

I said, “I think it’s an evolutionary thing. The cavemen who liked nice butts sired more babies, and I’m descended from those cavemen.” Rebecca helped me keep my balance. I stepped out of my pajama pants and pushed my boxers down.

Her eyes dropped to my groin for a long moment, and then back up. She said, “Does that mean I’m descended from the cavewomen with the nice bottoms?”

I hobbled into the shower and completely failed to consider my reply. “Oh yeah, you and your mom both have fantastic bottoms.”

Silence.

I turned around and faced back out of the shower. Rebecca hadn’t moved. In a flat tone, she said, “You’ve checked out my mother’s butt?”

Uh oh. Rebecca wouldn’t kick me, would she? L’audace, L’audace, Toujours L’audace! I said, “Well yeah, if you want to know what your girl will look like when she’s older, just check out her mother. I’m lucky because your mom is an attractive woman.”

“Oh,” her expression softened. “I guess that makes some kind of guy sense.”

Mounted to the wall were several sets of shower controls. Rebecca turned each knob until water sprayed from the hand-held shower head. Whether by accident or on purpose she sprayed me with the cold water. She continued talking. “Or you might be as depraved as Aunt Deborah thinks you are.”

“Me? Depraved? Well, what about you, you always stare at my penis.”

She glanced up from where she had been staring at my penis. “I do not!”

“You just did it.”

“Well you can’t blame me, it’s the only real one I’ve ever seen.” She returned her gaze back down to my penis. “Why is it so small and wrinkled?” As if to emphasize her question, she blasted my groin with more cold water.

I half turned and covered up with my hands. “Cold water causes shrinkage.”