Chapter 1

“You are disappointed with me?”

“No, Ann, I could never be disappointed in you. I’m just...”

“Will?”

He looked around the room piled high with boxes that they would have to unpack. Boxes filled with all of the things they would have to find new places for in their new home.

“I’m disappointed in the rest of the world, Ann. Why the fuck should anyone care.”

She was always the practical one, he thought. She had taken the plea deal negotiated by their attorney to protect him and their children. Say “Mea Culpa,” when she didn’t mean it, let him ghostwrite an insincere apology, and it would all be expunged in twelve months if they agreed to stop having sex with one another. She signed the deal, called the realtor from the lawyers waiting room, and then went home and had sex with her beloved brother.

“Nobody really cares,” she said, “it’s a cheap political wedge issue. The prick can look tough by prosecuting a twenty-eight year old status crime where nobody will step forward and defend us.”

“Yeah, but it’s just ... It’s vexing ... I can’t say that the best decision we ever made was wrong.”

“Will, dear...”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to apologize, but I’m not going to mean it. I’ll say it was wrong, but that is a lie. I love you. We can write 12,000 words easy. And we can make them sorry that they asked us to in the process.”

Will wrapped his arms around his sister and kissed her. “Where should we start?”

“The lawyer said: ‘don’t admit to anything before the age of consent.’”

“Yeah, no duh. In addition to leaving out anyone else’s names since we aren’t going to implicate our friends, we probably shouldn’t mention any ages in the essay either. Besides, in reality we were all old enough to know what we were doing.”

“What’s first,” Ann asked, “the spare bed in the basement, or Steve and Darcy?”

“Hmmm, tough one ... Maybe we should start with the two of us fooling around while sitting in the dark on the carpet ... You know, with our backs against the wall next to the bed in the basement.”

“The thunderstorm!”

“Uh huh.”

“You holding me, Will.”

“You putting my hand on your breast.”

“On my heart ... So you could feel it pound.”

“At first, yeah. But then ... You moved it.”

“Yeah,” Anne smiled, “I did.”

“It’s okay, I didn’t mind.”

“Yeah, Will, I could tell.”

“The crash of thunder, and the rain pounding on the patio. The sound of the sump pump...”

“Yeah, no lights, but that damned pump still worked.”

“It had a battery.”

“You told me that my breasts were perfect.”

“They are.”

“No, but I love that you say they are.”

“They are. I don’t ever lie to you.”

“No, you don’t lie ... You are honest ... And delusional.”

“I’m not, and I think you are perfect.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Will, I’m not saying that your being delusional is a bad thing.”

“We sat in the dark and you let me play with your breasts as you sat in my lap.”

“Such a wonderful memory,” she said.