Chapter 7

Interlude: Schmidt Kitchen

Call it a habit, a tradition, or “We’ve always done it like that.” Whatever the rationale, people tend to follow routines. Rachel and Deborah were no different. They had always alternated chores and chatted while working close together. This morning, Deborah washed the dishes, and Rachel dried. Deborah, being all businesslike, finished everything with a fierce efficiency. Rachel dried and put away the utensils and tableware in a less efficient manner. Both women still worked towards a renewed friendship. They were in no hurry to point fingers and demand the other change. Deborah sat at the table, sipping tea, and flipping through the family cookbook.

“I’ve been thinking,” Deborah mused. “Jonathan needs to hurry up and make the announcement for Rebecca’s wedding.” There came the sudden metallic clatter of silverware hitting the floor. She spun around and saw a stunned Rachel and the clean cutlery scattered across the floor. “Rachel,” Deborah asked, “are you well?”

“Don’t surprise me like that! You can’t be serious about their wedding; you don’t even like saying Kevin’s name.”

Deborah stood and helped Rachel gather up the scattered silverware. She said, “I’ve figured out Mr. Butcher’s game. He’ll continue to dally with your daughter for as long as he can. The sooner you set a date, the sooner he’ll abscond.”

“Abscond? No one talks like that.” Rachel dropped the silverware into the dish pan and ran the hot water.

“It is exactly the right word. Look it up.”

Rachel rewashed the silverware, but after a few minutes she paused and turned to Deborah. She said, “Would it be too sinful to offer a wager?” Deborah glanced up in interest, and Rachel continued. “You have that marvelous sewing machine, and I need new curtains. I say Kev will marry his Becks.”

“Curtains are boring, but what room?”

“All the rooms and you buy the fabric.”

“Ouch! Do I get to pick the fabric?”

“If you pick what I like.”

“Hmmm, what do I get when I win?”

“You get to say, ‘I told you so’ as often as you’d like.”

They shook on it.

Klaus Hanslein Senior:

At the sound of car tires rolling onto the cracked asphalt parking lot, Joey the Mule stood up from his chair. With a practiced gesture, he cracked the blinds enough to allow him to view the parking lot. “Boss?” he called to me. “It’s your lawyer.”

A minute later, there came three slow knocks on the steel door. Joey glanced back to me, and I nodded. Before opening the door, Joey studied the outside scene through the peephole for a moment.

Joseph Waters entered the room. He paused while Joey closed and secured the door. Waters knew the drill and waited while Joey gave him an exhaustive and intimate pat-down.

I called out from my seat behind the desk, “The fucking president doesn’t get as good security as I do.” Waters grunted and rose up onto his toes when Joey frisked between his legs. Joey did not have a gentle touch. After the search, Joey straightened and waved Waters towards me. Joey went back to his seat by the wall, but he kept his eyes on my lawyer.

“What do you have for me, Joseph?” I said.

“Klaus, I got all the details. The DA dropped by my office for a little chat. Keep in mind he knows I work for you. The State Police assigned your old friend Pittsenbargar to supervise the arrests.”

“Pittsenbargar!” I stood up so fast my chair fell over. Rage consumed me, and I kicked the chair half way to the wall. “That fucker has been harassing me for years.”

Alarmed by my outburst, Joey stood up from his post by the door. He reached into his coat and removed his revolver.

I waved Joey back then turned to Waters. I said, “He’s the fucker that harassed me about Naomi. How the fuck could I know he was a distant relative of hers.”

Joseph stood and picked up my chair. I took it and plopped back down behind my desk. Joey checked outside before holstering his pistol and sitting back down.

Waters returned to his seat and continued. “The DEA and the FBI are now involved. Young Ronald Thomas is in protective custody, and in a very secure location. Ronald Thomas has not talked, yet. But his court appointed lawyer is trying to work out a deal.”

“Ronnie doesn’t know shit.”

“Ronnie can tie you to the cabin.”

“What about the shipment? Is there a chance it’ll be inadmissible?” I asked. It embarrassed me how hopeful I sounded.

“No, not at all. Your son gave Pittsenbargar two perfect reasons to conduct a full search of the premises. One, he escaped instead of getting arrested. The search warrant for Junior and Mr. Thomas gave the police the authority to search the premises. Two, your boy got into the shipment and smoked a lot of your pot. The burnt pot smell gave Pittsenbargar the reasonable suspicion he needed to get a separate search warrant for drugs.”

“Jesus Christ, I should have put a bullet in Junior’s head.”

“Well, allowing him to hide in your drug warehouse wasn’t one of your better ideas. But it might even get worse.”

“What could be worse than this?”

One of the three TracFones on my desk rang.

Kevin Butcher:

“Kevin,” Mrs. Schmidt asked. “I know you’re leaving for work soon, but we need to talk about Rebecca’s wardrobe.”

I looked up from my notes. My boss called earlier. He apologized and asked me to come in for a few hours to go over the next week’s schedule. I checked the clock, and I wouldn’t need to leave for another fifteen minutes. Rachel and Deborah were sitting down across from me at the table. I tried and failed to not grimace at Deborah’s presence. Rachel noticed and said, “Deborah has promised to behave herself, can you do the same?”

Before I could reply, Deborah spoke up and said, “Pretend I’m not present, Mr. Butcher. I can assure you, I will be doing the same regarding you.”

I ignored Deborah and replied to Mrs. Schmidt, “I’ll be fine.”

Rachel pursed her lips. She didn’t like my adamant refusal to “normalize” my relations with her sister-in-law. This morning at breakfast, Deborah asked me to pass a serving tray to her. I ignored her request as if she hadn’t been present. Rebecca covered for me and passed the tray herself, but my inaction had not gone unnoticed.

Several moments passed, and I didn’t add anything. Deborah and I avoided looking at each other, but we both kept watch with our peripheral vision.

Rachel placed several catalogs onto the table. “Would you prefer Rebecca to dress in a more contemporary fashion?”

A serious and well thought out reply would be best, but I could not resist an opportunity to needle Deborah. I adopted a sober expression and replied, “Thank you for asking. Yes, I would like Rebecca to dress in a worldlier fashion: mini-skirts and tight jeans, please.”

For someone pretending to ignore me, Deborah, the self-proclaimed defender of virtuous women, could not have reacted better. She sat up and slammed the table with both hands. Her eyes blazed with a self-righteous fire. She said, “Over my dead body! She is not one of your whores to be put on display.”

The sudden outburst took Rachel by surprise. She looked shell-shocked. Had she been a Vietnam War veteran, she might have dived under the table for cover. “Alpha Foxtrot Uniform, you’re dropping the cluster bombs too close!” Deborah’s rant took on an all-new pitch, somewhere between strident and something only dogs could hear.

Rachel dropped her head into her hands. She took a few deep breaths and glanced up at me. “You had to do that? You had to set her off?”

Even Deborah had limits. She ran out of original invective and began to repeat herself. The lack of support from Rachel also served to undermine her, and her words began to falter.

I said, “One morning while Rebecca and I ate breakfast, Deborah searched my bedroom drawers.”

This gave Deborah another opening, and she seized upon it. “And I found something didn’t I?” She smiled the smile of the righteous.

“It was a rude and unnecessary invasion of privacy!”

Rachel raised her hand and Deborah and I both quieted. “Both of you need to settle down.” She turned to Deborah and said, “Kevin was trying to get a rise out of you, and you allowed him to succeed.” Rachel then turned to me. “If you want Rebecca to wear miniskirts or booty shorts or whatever they’re called, speak with her about it. Whatever games you want to play after the wedding, will be between the two of you.”

“Rachel!” Deborah said, “You shouldn’t encourage him.”

“What? You act as though you’ve never worn a miniskirt.” Rachel’s eyes widened, and she clasped a hand over her own mouth. Deborah’s face showed her shock and betrayal.

I said, “Deborah’s worn a miniskirt?”

Rachel glanced at Deborah, still shocked and betrayed, then down at the table. “We were young and curious. I bought a cute little denim miniskirt from a sale rack at the mall. We both tried it on one afternoon.” Deborah turned red.

“Um, Rachel?” I asked, “You wouldn’t have taken pictures, would you?”

Deborah sat up and opened her mouth, but Rachel held up her hand. Deborah sagged in defeat. Rachel fixed me with a look and said, “Young man. You are not yet married to my daughter, and while I like you, I do not find you as indispensable as she does.” She waited a moment and chuckled. “You two are so predictable. Yes, there are pictures.”

Deborah sputtered, and Rachel stopped her with another gesture. “If Deborah doesn’t behave, I may show you hers. If you want to see mine, you’ll need to ask Jonathan.”

Rachel paused to see if Deborah and I were going to behave. “I need to make something clear. Both of you,” Rachel turned to match eyes with Deborah and with me before continuing, “need to stop. Your constant bickering, sniping, and passive-aggressive behaviors are wearing us out.”

“But!” Deborah and I both objected at the same time. Rachel raised her hand, and we stopped.

Rachel turned to me and said, “Kevin, you need to remember bundling is a privilege.” She then turned to Deborah. “We would be sad if your stay with us ended so soon.”

Deborah and I remained quiet. Rachel nodded and spread out the catalogs. They featured modest contemporary clothing for women. I flipped through one and noted the knee length skirts. It didn’t take any effort to picture Rebecca dressed in this manner. I said, “Rebecca would look wonderful in these outfits. I paused for a moment, my mouth dry before adding. “Maybe with ankle strap heels?”

“You’ll be paying for her pedicures then?” Rachel smirked and added, “I remember hearing you weren’t a ‘foot guy’?”

Deborah snorted and said, “Oh, he’s a foot guy, I’ve seen him in action.”

“I was only teasing!” Neither Rachel nor Deborah appeared convinced.

Rachel said to Deborah, “It’s not the worst thing.”

I reached for my wallet and removed a credit card. “When you go shopping, take this along.” Rachel objected, and I paused. “You don’t need to use it. Clothing, especially intimates, can be expensive. You may pass near a Victoria’s Secret. There is little for sale there I wouldn’t mind buying for my wife.” Deborah managed a sour face. Rachel smiled and took my card.

Klaus Hanslein Junior:

Somewhere ahead, I heard water running. Another ten or fifteen minutes trudging through the woods and I found a big-assed stream blocking my path

Was this the same stream dad and I used to fish? It didn’t look deep, but the banks rose up a couple of feet above the water. If I wanted to cross here, I’d have to sit on the edge and jump down. I didn’t want to get wet. Several minutes passed while I tried to make up my mind. From ahead, I heard the sound of a tractor trailer’s Jake brake from somewhere across the stream. I made up my mind; a truck meant a road, and a road meant Dad could come and get me.

I used a stick to test the bank, it felt secure enough. Then I sat down and scooted to the edge. The tips of my shoes grazed the surface of the water. It wouldn’t be cold this close to the end of summer. I pushed off and dropped into knee deep water, cold knee-deep water. Too late I realized I should have taken off my shoes, socks, and pants. I could have tied them onto my stick and carried them across. Shit, nothing to do but wade across.

On the opposite side, I clambered up onto the bank and through another thorn bush. I could have used my stick to push through, but my stick lay on the bank across the creek. Fifteen more minutes of hiking and I stood on the edge of a road. The black and white sign read “339”. Down the road a little way, a bridge crossed the stream I waded across. Shit, if I had kept walking, I’d be on the other side of the bridge, and dry.

My stomach growled, and not for the first time, I wished the TracFone my dad gave me for an emergency was a candy bar. Wait, this was an emergency! I dug it out of my pocket and turned it on. It started up and got a signal! The phone had one number stored in the memory, and I pressed it. The phone rang three times before I heard Dad’s voice. He said, “Yeah?”

Dad had one strict phone rule: never use any names. I said, “Hey, it’s me.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Then, “Tell me the truth, what’s your favorite color?”

Years ago, Dad started playing a game, kind of like “Simon Says.” True answers or secure situations were amber colored answers. False answers or problem situations would be any other color. I replied, “Amber?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in the woods along route 339.”

“What happened yesterday morning?”

“I don’t know. Someone pounded on the front door and woke me up. When they yelled, ‘Police, open the door!’ I didn’t want to get busted, so I climbed out my window and crawled into the bushes. There were cops behind the cabin. I got lucky and kept crawling. Last night, I found an old hunting blind and slept inside.”

“Why did you break into the locked rooms?”

Shit, how did Dad know about that? Had Ronnie ratted us out? “It wasn’t me, I swear! Ro ... It was the other guy; he broke into one of the rooms. I didn’t do it.” My last sentence sounded weak, and Dad didn’t like weakness. I paused for a few moments and tried to sound tough. “Can you come and get me?”

“I’ve got big problems because of you and your asshole buddy. Coming to get you ain’t a priority.”

I swallowed; I didn’t want to spend another night in the woods. “Please? I don’t want to sleep in the woods again.”

“You’re a worthless piece of shit. If you knew how much trouble you’d caused, you’d want to be as far away from me as possible.” Dad paused for a minute. I kept my fingers crossed. “Fuck it, I’ll talk to someone and see what we can do. Stay where you are, and don’t do any more stupid shit, got it?”

“Yes, Da ... yes, I got it.”

Dad sighed, I could imagine him shaking his head. “Klaus, I wish you would have been born smart.” Click.

Klaus Hanslein Senior:

I tossed the cell phone onto my desk. That worthless little shit. I should have buried him with his back-stabbing mother. Fuck, I hadn’t thought of Naomi in weeks. Now my memories of her flooded back: Starting from when I first saw her.

Back then Dad made us go to church. I don’t know why, but hypocrisy never bothered Wilhelm Hanslein. We went to church with the same fucking sheep we sheared. No one sat near us. No one talked to us. Yet Dad strode about as if he owned the fucking place.

One Sunday, I noticed Jonathan Schmidt escorting a tall, slender woman. They mingled about, sharing in the post service fellowship. I don’t know why but I felt drawn to her. She wore a normal dress, not one of those ugly shape-concealing cape dresses. As she walked, I caught tantalizing glimpses of her curves. Like a moth to a candle, I maneuvered closer. A minute or two later, I stood behind Jonathan and his new woman. The couple they chatted with took notice of my presence and made hasty excuses to leave.

“Jonathan Schmidt.” I said. Jonathan stiffened and turned, his lady friend turning as well. This close I could see her pale green eyes. They complemented her honey brown hair so well. Jonathan introduced us, and the fascinating Naomi Miller shook my hand. Then they said goodbye and turned away to find their friends. My eyes fixed upon Naomi Miller as she walked away. Her lithe body moved with an exquisite feminine grace. At that moment, I knew I had to have her. I wanted to have her on my arm and in my bed. I wanted to make her scream my name and beg, and plead.

On the way home, I asked Dad about her. Dad explained he and Joseph Schmidt, Jonathan’s father, had a business arrangement. He said their business wasn’t worth jeopardizing over some cooch. Mom’s lips tightened when Dad used the word “cooch.” I waited a couple of days and asked about her again. Dad raised his fist and told me not to pester him.

My father’s usual reaction to pestering involved a closed fist. Then again, Dad’s usual reaction to anything except a profitable business deal involved a closed fist. Not with Mom though. Dad always used an open hand on Mom. If Dad banged Mom up, I had to do the grocery shopping until her bruises cleared up.

I kept at him and even took a few licks. Maybe my willingness to take it sunk in, but he agreed to discuss it with Mr. Schmidt. They came to an arrangement. On the following Monday Dad made an appointment and spoke with Naomi’s father. They negotiated and struck a deal. Three weeks later I married Naomi Miller. Jonathan’s presence was notably absent from the church.

To say Naomi disappointed me would be an understatement. I expected she’d need a few weeks to become accustomed to me and her responsibilities. I did the right thing and carefully explained my needs and her duties. In bed, I tried everything possible to light her fire, but she remained cold and unresponsive. When I asked for sex, she’d only say, “Yes, husband,” and lift her nightgown. She would hold whatever position I asked for. Sometimes, if I were especially rough, like when I took her in her bottom, she would cry out. Otherwise, she lay quiet and still. Late at night, I’d sometimes wake from the sounds of her crying in the bathroom.

Once, I stormed into the bathroom. She flinched back, but I grabbed and tore away her nightgown. For the first time, I saw my wife naked. Her tears and her fear aroused me, and I bent her over the sink and took her from behind. With one hand, I pulled on her braided hair and forced her to look into the mirror. My eyes held hers while I pounded my rage into her.

A few weeks later, Naomi informed me of her pregnancy. Out of respect for her condition, I kept my distance. She bore me a son, and I named him after me. Naomi’s labor had been difficult. Klaus Junior had been a breech birth, and there had been some nonsense with the umbilical cord. I again put my needs aside and gave her time to heal.

A month after Junior’s birth, I’d waited long enough and took her while she bent over the washing machine. Something changed, and instead of passively accepting me, she fought. Naomi could not stop me. My only concern was to avoid giving her any visible markings. Years passed, and it became a game for me. I took her whenever, and however, I wanted. Days would pass while I waited to find that moment when she least expected it. Sometimes, I’d be gentle, other times, I’d force myself upon her. One time while visiting her parents, I followed her into the bathroom and took her in her behind. Oh, she had to sit with care that afternoon.

More years passed and even though I continued to take Naomi how or when I wished, she never became pregnant. Then I found her birth control pills. We argued for hours. Naomi admitted she used the pills because she knew I wanted more children. My rage consumed me. Later, after she stopped breathing, I called Joey, and we buried her up at the cabin. Naomi’s hadn’t been the first body buried there, nor had it been the last. But I never stayed at my hunting cabin again.

“Klaus? KLAUS!” Joseph Waters looked concerned.

I blinked, and my thoughts returned to the present. I said, “Sorry, I’m tired. I must have drifted off.”

Waters stood. “Well, I got to get back to the courthouse. Is there anything you need?”

“Nah, Joey’s got us stocked.”

Waters waited while Joey unlocked and opened the door, he nodded to me and left.

After my lawyer left, I sat back and kicked his feet up onto my desk. Junior had finally cost me more than his worth. He was a liability, and only a fool would give a proven liability another chance to fuck up. I said. “Joey, I got a problem.”

“What’s up, boss?”

“My kid, he’s up in the woods near Route 339. I told him to hold tight, and I’d call him back.”

“You want me to pick him up?”

I stood and stretched, then walked over to the windows and peeked outside. The bright sunlight stabbed into my eyes. The pain helped me clear my head. Without turning around, I said, “Nah, I need you here. You got anybody that can clean up that mess for me?” Joey didn’t answer right away, and I turned to see if he had a problem.

Joey sat on his chair by the door, staring down at the floor. He said, “The only guy I got, the only reliable guy that won’t want money up front, is someone you might not want for this.”

I knew who Joey meant: “The guy from up in the Poconos?”

“Yeah.”

We used the Poconos guy because he was cheap and he had a wood chipper. There was never, ever, a problem with a body. But the guy did this work because he enjoyed “playing” before firing up the chipper. Joey had checked him out. The guy even had an honest-to-God rape dungeon. I only used the Poconos guy for special problems. Problems that deserved the extra attention. “Well, give him a call. Tell him it needs to be quick, and none of his fucking around.”

Klaus Hanslein Junior:

The phone ringing woke him up. “Yeah?”

A voice I did not recognize asked, “Junior?”

“Who is this?”

“I’m a friend of a friend of your father’s. He called, said you needed help.”

“Yeah, I’m stuck here in the woods.”

“I need to know where you are, locate a mile marker, or a landmark. Then get back off the road and call me.”

“There’s a bridge north of me, and another road branches off to the right, past the bridge.”

“Hang on,” Junior heard paper rustling, “I think I got you. Good thing 339 isn’t too long. It’ll be an hour, or an hour and a half. Can you hang?”

“Yeah, I’ll be cool.”

Kevin Butcher:

I didn’t find out until later, but as preparation for our first date, Rachel and Deborah took Rebecca clothes shopping. After I came home from work, Rachel ordered me to, “Get a shower, get ready, and go wait on the back porch. Your fiancée will come out when she’s ready.” Jonathan brought us iced tea, and we stood chatting about a news report concerning a major drug seizure. Little did we know how repercussions from that drug raid would impact us.

When the screen door squeaked, Jonathan’s eyes opened wide. His voice hushed, he said, “Rachel has outdone herself.”

I turned to see Rebecca as I’d never seen her before. She wore a loose, flowing, knee length dress and ankle strap heels. Instead of a prayer veil, she wore her lustrous blonde hair twisted up into a loose bun. Rebecca looked at me with a question in her blue eyes.

I couldn’t think of anything to say, but Jonathan came to my rescue. “For a moment,” he said, “I thought I had gone back in time to meet Rachel all over again.”

Thank you, Jonathan! I stepped to Rebecca and took her hands in mine. I said, “You are so lovely, and your eyes are my favorite shade of blue.” My fiancée lifted up on her toes and kissed me. She wobbled a bit when her heels touched back down, but I kept her steady.

“Are you sure, Kev? This dress is so short, and I’m not used to heels.”

I took my girl out to dinner. Rebecca may not have realized it, but she was the most beautiful woman in the room.

Klaus Hanslein Junior:

How the hell are you supposed to take a shit out in the woods? There wasn’t anything I could sit on, and I sure as fuck couldn’t build a toilet. I stripped a handful of leaves from a bush, dropped my pants, and squatted. Then I fell over and lost my leaves. Could I lean against a tree? I waddled over to a tree with another handful of leaves. This time I managed to squat without falling over.

The leaves looked like normal leaves, and I hoped they weren’t anything bad. At the rate things were going, it wouldn’t surprise me if I used a handful of poison ivy to wipe my ass.

My phone rang. The leaves went flying, and I almost fell over again. I managed to answer the call before it went into voice mail. “Yeah?”

“I’m coming up on the bridge, white van. Yell when you see me.”

I recovered most of the leaves, wiped fast, and pulled my pants back up. Through the trees, a white van came around the far turn and slowed as it approached the bridge. I said, “Flash your lights.” The van slowed more, and its lights flashed. “I see you.”

“Great, come on down, and I’ll pick you up.”

Several minutes later, I stepped over the steel cable guard rail. The van pulled up next to me. I didn’t recognize the driver and paused before opening the door. The dude behind the wheel said, “Better get in before someone comes by.”

I opened the door and climbed in. The driver accelerated down the road while I fastened the seat belt.

The van driver was a youngish looking man with short curly hair and a friendly smile. I said, “You don’t look familiar.”

“We’ve never met. I’m an independent contractor. Your dad’s guy, Joey, hires me for the occasional job. Like today with you.” He held out his right hand and said, “Call me Adrian. It’ll do as well as any name.”

I shook the proffered hand. “Thanks, what’s going to happen?”

“Your dad wants you to disappear. First, you need to give me the battery out of your cell phone.”

“What? Why?” I reached for the door handle.

“Settle down, Junior, if your phone has a battery in it, the police can trace it. If you don’t want to give it to me, I’ll stop, and you can get out.”

Grumbling, I removed the battery and handed it over.

“Thank you, Junior. Why don’t you get something to eat and relax?”

I smiled and closed my eyes. I knew dad would come through for me!

Kevin Butcher:

We sat across from each other at the candlelit table.

“You keep staring at me. Is something wrong?” Rebecca said.

“Your hair is different; I’m trying to figure how.”

“It isn’t braided. Momma brushed it out and pinned it up.”

“If I understand correctly, I won’t see you with your hair unbound until after we’re married.”

“You’ll see it on our wedding night, and most nights after. You’ll have to help me brush it sometimes.”

“While we were out shopping this afternoon, Aunt Deborah said you’re going to abscond rather than marry me.”

Our evening had gone rather well. Thrilled to be out together, Rebecca and I enjoyed a romantic candlelit dinner and a movie. Now, back home and freshly showered, we were in bed, and she looked cute and sexy in one of my button-down shirts. As we moved about preparing for bed, I caught glimpses of pale yellow cotton panties. I wore a pair of loose and comfortable cotton shorts. We both still felt excited from our first dinner date, and neither of us felt sleepy.

We got into bed and lay on our left sides spooned together, her head on my left arm and her warm butt pressed into my groin. My right hand drew little spirals and loops on her exposed legs

“Your aunt is crazy. If I’m going to abscond, I’ll take you with me. I’ve spent too much time bending you to my will.”

“Would you ever do anything like that for real?” She rolled over onto her back. Her blues eyes reflected tiny pinpoints from the LED night lights. My hand, which had been drawing spirals on her hip, now rested on her thigh.

“I’m 100% certain I wouldn’t. Relationships like the one between your aunt and her biology teacher are all about power and control. The sex is one of the ways the control manifests. The largest part of what attracts me to you is you. Sometimes, well pretty much all the time, I’m amazed that you’re attracted to me. If I somehow tricked or connived my way into being intimate with you, I don’t think it would feel so perfect.” Rebecca lifted her head up and kissed me. I slid my hand over to the inside of her thigh. Her warmth indicated her interest, and our kiss intensified.

Rebecca pulled back with a wicked smile.

I smiled back. “What?”

“I heard you asked to see Momma’s and Deborah’s miniskirt pictures.”

Uh oh, I should have kept my mouth shut. “Ah, are you mad?”

Rebecca reached out a hand, and her fingers traced circles on my chest. “Not really, Momma thinks you asked to get Aunt Deborah wound up.” Her hand drifted further down, drawing circles and loops. “I think you want to see me dressed up like Kristen. Momma and I look a lot alike.”

My fingers, which had been moving, stopped. I looked down and said. “Now you’re mad.”

“Nope. I’ve figured you out. You’re a man, and you can’t help wanting me to do sexy stuff with you. Wearing one of your shirts, like this,” She touched my shirt “or wearing a short skirt like Momma did, it’s all the same thing. You,” her hand went back to my stomach, “just want to see me wearing those things.”