Chapter 1

‘Rosalie.’

The way Uncle Kyron always said my name was so different from the way anyone else did. There was Mum, who usually only used my full name when she was cross with me (which she rarely is). ‘Rosalie Ann Meyers!’ she would say sternly, punctuating each of my names in her displeasure. ‘Rosalie Meyers,’ my teachers would call in a dull monotone for our roll call. Mostly, people called me Rosie. Even Mum, Dad, and Gerry did. Only Uncle Kyron ever called me by my full name in such mellifluous soft tones, as if the mere mention of my name was a blessing—something to be revered and only used sparingly. I remember it from my earliest days, this gentle loving use of my whole name. It made me feel special.

‘Come on, Rosalie,’ he’d say, reaching down to take my tiny chubby hand in his big, strong, weathered hand. It would disappear completely within his, warm and safe, and I knew that even if I tripped he would always be holding onto me, making sure I didn’t fall.

‘Here’s one back for you, sweet Rosalie,’ he said when he returned my goodbye baby kisses as a toddler and small child, returning the gentlest of kisses to my bubbled infant lips. I can’t ever recall a time when he’s called me anything but ‘Rosalie.’

The steadfast, gentle love for me didn’t change when I reached adolescence. Kyron was always as patient as he’d ever been, still absently kissing my hurts when he forgot my age, reading Gerry and I stories when we stayed at his house overnight, always speaking to me with tenderness, as if I were something precious to him. I don’t think Gerry ever noticed; Kyron loved him too. I think we were the children he never had. It wasn’t the same to Gerry, though. I can’t say how, exactly, it was different, but it definitely was.

By the time I was thirteen, certain feelings had risen up in me. Sometimes I had dreams like I’d never experienced before, with boys in them, and we were doing ... things. It differed from dream to dream. Subconsciously I began to explore my femininity and the effect it had on my male counterparts. Gerry was at the know-all phase, all arrogance and certainty that the world belonged to him; Dad was too focussed on work and Mum to bother. Mum ... I loved her, but I didn’t think she’d understand the questions I had for her, and might become the protective Mama Bear at some of them, and so ... I settled on Uncle Kyron for any questions I had about my sexuality. Kyron was always calm and patient in his answers, and never judgmental. Our talks always ended with him telling me to be careful and an understanding hug.

He wasn’t really our uncle, I guess—not really. Kyron was my mum’s second cousin, but also one of her closest and oldest friends, and so we called him Uncle, and knew him as such.

Anyway, visits with our Uncle changed for me a little bit, and not for the worse. Now, when I hugged him, I felt more understood. It was like he had a special love for Gerry and me— but me especially. It was probably my imagination.

Uncle Kyron never said anything about my having outgrown good-bye the kisses, and neither did I, and so our tradition continued.

I wondered, with idle curiosity, what his experiences with the sexual side of life had been, or were—he seemed to possess a wealth of good advice.

And one day, I saw him with my mother.

Mum was sick. She’d been home from work two days in a row, today being the second day, and mostly slept the whole day. It was a Saturday and I fully expected her to sleep the day away again—I mean, what’s better for a cold than sleeping as much as you can other than hot tea or broth?—and Gerry was away at soccer camp while Dad was working today, overtime, I’m afraid. I was reading in my room a few doors down from the master bedroom, restlessly turning and trying to find a comfortable way to read lying down, when the doorbell rang.

I jumped up to answer it, sprawling my book onto my bed. For all I knew Mum was conked out on cold medicine, and what kind of selfish daughter lets her ill mum get the door?

It was Uncle Kyron, of course.

‘What are you doing here?’ I asked with a surprised sort of pleasure, flocking into his arms immediately and burying my face in his shoulder to smell his spicy cologne. Kyron wrapped his arms around me strongly.

He shrugged, smiling sheepishly as I pulled away. ‘I came to see your mum. I heard she’s ill; she’s been texting me when she’s not asleep, and I thought I’d come visit her. It seems your father is too busy just now to pay her much mind.’ Most of his answer had been warm and friendly, but the last sentence was equal parts icy and mischievous, which was an unusual combination.

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘That’s very kind of you. I know she’ll be happy to see a friendly face; mostly, she’s been miserable, but you cheer her so much I’m sure a visit will do the trick.’

Uncle Kyron grinned back and pressed a brief hello kiss onto my lips. ‘Shall I bring her up some tea?’

‘Sure. Peppermint; it’s good for colds.’

When the tea was ready, Kyron flashed me one last smile and disappeared up the stairs with the steaming mug.

I followed a few minutes later with my own tea; peach. Vaguely I could hear conversational voices when I passed my parents’ room, which might have been Mum and Kyron’s, but were so muffled it was hard to tell.

I put the mug on my nightstand and was about to settle down to read again when Mum had one of her coughing fits. She’s slightly asthmatic, and chest-colds do a number on her. I had just grabbed one of the packets of eucalyptus lozenges and gotten to the master bedroom door when the fit stopped, and heard Mum say firmly, ‘Kyron, no.’ her voice was wheezy and very airy, but the ‘no’ had a definite firmness to it, a finality that someone might use when training a dog not to eat from the table or jump on people.

I’d never heard her stern or cross with Uncle Kyron, and put my ear curiously to the door to listen.

There was a pause, and then she said in an exasperated tone, ‘If nothing else, you could get my cold.’

Kyron made a little humming noise. ‘It’s worth it for those sweet lips of yours.’

I moved back in shock. What was going on in there? Was he—was he kissing her?

Quickly I moved back to hear more, fascination winning over surprise. I heard the unmistakable sound of Mum swatting someone on the shoulder—usually something she did to stop whomever she swatted from doing what they were doing. ‘No, don’t,’ she said, and her tone was more helpless and begging this time than firm and authoritative.

There was a short smacking sound, like a kiss—and I had little doubt now that was exactly what it was. Then another and another, and Kyron was making low humming noises, happy, pleased sounds. They were very quiet, and I leant closer to the door to try to hear well. Apparently, it wasn’t shut, and moved forward about two inches when I touched it. I covered my gasp, scared silly that I was about to be caught listening in, but they didn’t seem to notice, because the kissing sounds continued. I couldn’t see them from here—the master bathroom was immediately inside the door—but what I could see was the mirror on the wardrobe, which was across from the bed.

I could see Uncle Kyron’s back as he leant over my mother. It was obvious to see she had been sitting up, about to stand perhaps, because she was half-lying and half-sitting on the edge of the bed now. I could see them both in profile, from the side, in the mirror. Mum wasn’t protesting anymore. She was mostly underneath him, bundled up in her warmest nightie, her dark chocolate curls spread across the bed. Her cheeks were flushed, and not just from being ill, but from Kyron’s kisses too. Their eyes were closed and his mouth was on hers, molded together, and as I watched she shifted and gave the smallest of moans as he hummed against her. One of his hands had been at her face, cupping a cheek; now it roved down to a breast and stroked gently, making her nipple pop out harder against the silky fabric.

‘Julianne,’ he moaned softly, his lips trailing away from her mouth down her face and neck, towards the one breast he had stroked.

Mum’s eyes were opened in slits now, her breath heaving. She tried to sit up.

‘Stop, Kyron,’ she cried weakly, when she found herself unable to move beneath him, sick as she was. ‘Stop. This can’t go any farther.’

‘You know I’m crazy about you,’ Kyron murmured to her as he nuzzled her breasts through the nightgown. ‘For how long? Twenty years?’

‘Yes,’ Mum sigh-moaned, ‘I know. You said it wouldn’t impact our friendship. I had Toby already, remember? For a long time before you came along.’

‘I remember,’ he said, with both regret and anger in his voice. He was unbuttoning the front of her nightgown as she tried futilely to pull the front closed. ‘Damned shame, too. Damned fucking shame.’

I was more shocked by his language than his actions; Uncle Kyron had never sworn in front of us, never!

‘I made a promise,’ Mum said weakly. ‘I vowed, and I meant to keep them.’

‘You meant to,’ Kyron repeated, looking up at her with a crookedly mischievous smile. ‘And broke those promises once already.’ His hands were deft at her nightie and pulled one breast out.

‘I love Toby,’ Mum protested, but she didn’t try to remove his hands or cover herself anymore.

‘I have no doubt you do,’ my uncle said. ‘But I know you love me too, and more than a brother as you pretend.’

‘Kyron—’ Mum said, just as his mouth closed over her nipple. She cried out softly, cradling his head to her breasts as his lips pulled at her. ‘Oh,’ she said weakly.

‘Toby hasn’t been taking proper care of you, has he? He hasn’t been loving your body the way it should be loved. Not for a long time.’

‘Four months, about,’ Mum admitted quietly. ‘But he’s so busy. We’re all so busy. I don’t blame him.’

‘It doesn’t matter how busy he is. He should take time to love you properly, to worship you. I would.’ His tongue circled her nipple, and I watched Mum’s facial expression change to near ecstasy. He was watching her face too, and his eyes got even darker when he saw her pleasure.

Kyron moved up to kiss her mouth again. ‘I love you, Julianne.’

‘I can’t,’ she said desperately when he moved away.

‘Then let me love you,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to do anything for me. I can live with that. Just let me touch you and bring you pleasure, and let some part of me be inside you. I think I’ll die if I can’t.’

Mum gazed at him with such a pained expression for a long moment, and then she nodded. ‘Come here,’ she said. ‘One more kiss.’

He acquiesced eagerly, tipping her face up and cupping her cheeks. The kiss he gave her was so passionate and loving I could have cried. Then, he began his way down, kissing both breasts and stroking them. Uncle Kyron went to his knees at the side of the bed and pushed the nightie up Mum’s legs, up past her panties and tummy and over her head. She really was beautiful naked, even her scars and stretch marks. Kyron seemed to think the same thing, because he nuzzled the inside of her thigh and murmured, ‘you’re so beautiful, my Julianne.’

She gazed down at him, raised up on her elbows, as he was there between her legs. He kept her gaze and pressed a kiss to her tummy, right above the waistband of her panties. He kissed right at the edges of the panties where her legs came through too, on her inner thighs. Her breathing quickened, and I saw his tongue dart out and swirl slow circles just there where her panties were at her inner thigh.