Part 7

Steve was wearing a down coat. Better to sit in a cold car than to risk a walk from the car running out of gas. He turned the engine off.

Theresa had a hard time fitting her key in the door. "Peggy needs you" was the first thing that Shannon said to her. She dropped keys, bag, and coat on her way to the chair. Her left breast had leaked badly. She fumbled open her blouse and opened the bra on that side. Shannon put Peggy in her arms, and the baby latched on. The intensity hurt at first, but soon they both relaxed. She heard the front door slam; was Shannon gone?

Shannon handed Peggy to her mother, and started cleaning up the mess. She closed the door, picked up the keys and dropped them in Mrs. Jensen's purse, closed the purse and put it on the table. She hung up Mrs. Jensen's coat in the closet. She took her backpack into the bathroom with her.

When she came out, she was wearing bra and pantyhose; her shirt and skirt were decently buttoned and neatly arranged; her eye makeup was back on. Mrs. Jensen had what Peggy needed, that was for sure. She donned shoes and sweater and packed her schoolbooks into her backpack. Should she take Steve's? They had their first class together.

"How's Amy?" she asked.

"They're keeping her for the night -- maybe the next day or two, but she's past her crisis. Did I say how grateful we are for what you two did? Could you get me a pen and paper and something to write on? A book or something." Shannon brought Mrs. Jensen a school notebook opened to a blank page. It was long past time for this night to end. She wanted to call her dad for a ride home, but she didn't want Mrs. Jensen talking about Steve in front of him.

"To whom it may concern," Theresa wrote.

"What is your boyfriend's name? Steve what?"

"Steve Anderson."

"To whom in may concern,

"Steve Anderson is driving my car tonight, Jan. 23,

"with my permission and at my request.

"Theresa Jensen"

"Give this to him when you go out, would you? My checkbook is somewhere in my purse. If you could find it for me, I'll write you a check. Better yet," Theresa still felt at the edge of collapse, even with Peggy in her arms; and she wished that Shannon wouldn't watch her, "you write the check and I'll sign it. I don't think that I could calculate the hours, and you deserve something extra, anyway."

Shannon was still trying to figure out why she should give the note to Steve when she went out with him, and she didn't want to figure out what extra she deserved. Let them figure out what extra she deserved, everybody would be happier that way. "Where is Steve anyway?"

"He's waiting to drive you home."

"Look, let's settle up next time. You don't need me for anything else tonight?"

"No." Shannon must see how embarrassed she was over being seen. "He'll drive himself home and call me and tell me where it's parked. Bill will pick it up later. I'm sorry." She started to cry. "I can't handle this."

Shannon gave her a brief hug. "You're doing fine. Dr. Wyatt is giving Amy what she needs; you're giving Peggy what she needs." She put the car seat on the floor by Mrs. Jensen's feet. She put on her coat, buttoning everything for the outside cold. Her backpack actually went on her back, and she piled Steve's books together. "When should I give that paper to Steve?"

"When you go out there. It's his permission to drive the car."

"Goodbye. Hope everything works out." She made sure that the door locked when she shut it, and walked over to the car. Steve looked like he was asleep. She pounded on his side.

Steve looked up and there was Shannon. They got his stuff into his backpack and her backpack onto her lap.

Shannon felt that the kiss before she buckled up was perfunctory. On the other hand, sitting beside Steve again was quite a relief. "We survived," she said.

"And Amy survived. I told them about having given her two pills. Let's get you home." The drive was silent until he pulled up in her driveway. He grasped her hand. "Love you," he said.

"Love you." But she was less reluctant to leave Steve than she had been since going out with him. What kept her in the car was that she was too tired to open the door. She sighed, opened it, shivered, and hurried to her door. Steve waited until the door closed, then she heard him drive away.

"Who brought you home?" her mom asked.

"Look, it was a night from hell. Let's talk in the morning."

Steve left the Golf in the Jensens' driveway, and the keys in their mailbox. The walk home revived him, then it froze him to the bone. He fell into bed in his underwear.

Rachel Anderson didn't set her alarm any later for her day off. It was a snooze alarm, and half the pleasure of sleeping in consisted of half-waking, thinking "It's Wednesday," and slapping the button. This morning, however, after she did so there was still an annoying -- although very low -- buzzing.

By this time, she was awake enough to need the bathroom. Coming out, she traced the buzzing to her son's room. His alarm was ringing -- hadn't he come home the night before? She burst in, almost tripped over his coat, and saw the mound under the covers which must be Steve.

She checked for breathing, thrown back fifteen years for one moment. His chest was moving, but he didn't respond to her hand at all. This was a case for the Chinese water torture. She moved the clock as far away as the cord reached, and brought a dripping-wet washcloth back from the bathroom. Pulling the sheet down from his face, she dripped a bit on his face. He kicked.

She squeezed. Be blinked, thrashed, turned over, but didn't seem to awaken. The next squeeze went into his ear -- an accident, but an effective one.

"Holy hell! Leave me alone!" He turned over. She watched for a moment as the alarm started to penetrate. One arm came out and slapped where the button was before she had moved the clock. She squeezed again, but the washcloth yielded only half as much. "Let me sleep."

"School day. Work day for that matter. I'm the one who deserves to sleep. Get up!"

"I'm not dressed," said Steve, sounding nearly awake.

"I've told you before about wearing underwear to bed. Pajamas will keep you nice and warm, but allow the air to circulate. You probably smell like a gym sock under there." She had to talk about something; it might as well be the health tips he ignored.

"Mom!"

"Here." She threw him the jeans from the floor. "Pull these on. I want you to take a shower, late as it is." She grabbed his robe and left the room. She handed the robe to him in the hall. He was wearing the jeans, his tee-shirt, and one sock. She went in and turned off his alarm, putting it safely back on the nightstand. By now, her alarm was sounding again; she shut it off and dressed for the day. What a way to begin her day off.

Even so, she started breakfast for both of them. Steve took a second cup of coffee. "Why can't I stay home one day? I'm exhausted. Let them treat it as a ditch, if they want."

"Let's get this straight. You are ready to give up on this performance-standard thing. I run your hours until you go off to college. I supervise your homework; I decide whether you can go on dates; I set your curfew?"

"Mom! One day?"

"You had no business staying out with Shannon so late. You are supposed to choose times that won't wreck you for the next day."

"That's not exactly what happened." She cupped her ear to signal that he should say more. "Shannon was babysitting. One of the kids got sick. I took her to the emergency room. I didn't see Shannon again until the parents were located. I drove her home, returned the car, and came right home. It was not the most romantic evening in our lives."

"I don't want to hear about your romantic evenings. I'll tell you what, though. Since you were such a great hero, I'll drive you to school this morning. You've already missed the bus. I won't cut back on the performance-standard rule if you don't do it again."

"Well, I think getting a sick child to the hospital is performance. The kid's mother thought so too."

"And I'm sure that Shannon's parents are praising her to the skies. Taking care of those kids is her duty, her performance. Getting you to help is an accomplishment on her part. Meanwhile you have to get to school and get some grades."

"Feel all right?" Allison Bryant asked her daughter as she served breakfast. Normally Shannon should make her own, but it had been quite a night.

"Tired. I hope none of the teachers pops a quiz today. And there is a meeting after school, too. I just hope Amy does okay. Gah!" She dug into her food.

"Sounds exciting," said Allison. "I'm not sure I know what happened exactly. How did you get Amy to the hospital? How did you get home? You know that your father would have been glad to pick you up in an emergency."

"Even that late," Wayne put in.

"Look, I'll give you a blow-by-blow tonight. A neighbor drove her to the hospital, okay?"

It was hard to keep her eyes open in class; but then, it often was. Steve got caught nodding off in English. "What were you doing last night, Steve?" Mrs. Foster asked.

"If you must know, I was driving a sick baby to the emergency room. I'm not paying attention very well this morning, and you can mark me down for it; but it is not a moral fault this time." It wasn't like Steve to mouth off to teachers like that.

"I'll mark you down for attitude as well," Mrs. Foster said. "That was a very brief reformation that you showed yesterday."

Robert Kirkland sometimes wondered if the bank had ever had enough business to justify the size of its lobby. It certainly didn't have enough these days. Which left a desk for his law practice far enough away from the next desks to give his clients privacy -- a privacy which they seldom desired. He stopped by Charlotte for his messages and the news.

The president of the bank could, in theory, terminate his month-to-month lease on the desk in the corner; but he would have to justify that to his board. The lobby gave Kirkland exposure, but it also gave the bank an image of providing a range of services. And, of course, he paid rent.

Charlotte, on the other hand, could say, "Kirkland? The lawyer? He's not at his desk. I don't know where he is."

She could also say, "Mr. Kirkland is in court today; he'll be back this evening from about four to five." And she could say "Mr. Kirkland stepped out for a moment; why don't you wait for him?" when he was in the john.

Keeping Charlotte happy was much more important to his business than keeping the bank president happy was. He listened to the news she shared.

"Bill Jensen's baby, Amy, is back in the hospital. Poor Theresa." Charlotte was one of those who remembered when Theresa had worked at the bank. "Bill's nephew got put on the internet for Christmas, and yanked off for monopolizing the phone lines. Their babysitter had to act by herself. She sent Amy to the hospital with her boyfriend. Theresa praises them to the skies. Anyway, Amy's better this morning; but you might put her in your prayers."

At his desk, he did bow his head for a moment. The bowed head was to keep Charlotte happy, but -- since he was there anyway -- he did pray for Amy.

Bill Jensen stopped by his desk on his break. "How do you do, Bill? I was sorry to hear about Amy."

"She's better," said Bill, "but that was what I wanted to talk about. Still have that rule on consultation for bank employees?"

"Nobody's waiting." The free first consultation took only his time, which was often free. It generated some business. It kept bank employees happy with him

"Look, this is what happened." Bill told the story of Steve's driving Amy to the emergency room in Theresa's car. The part about his being questioned by the police wasn't particularly clear. If the cops thought the kid had stolen the car, why hadn't they taken him in?

"Look, here's my card. Give it to him next time you see him. If the cops arrest him, he should call the pager number. I'll show up and deal with them. Let him know that he is hiring me if he does call me.

"But I don't think he will become a client. Here's how it goes. They could have taken him in right then. If they didn't, they may well not be pursuing the matter. Which is fine.

"You said the girl gave him permission to drive the car?" he finished up.

"We weren't there, which was the whole problem, but she must have."

"Implicit permission, anyway. If this actually goes to the police station, let alone the court, I'll check all this out in the law books, but I don't expect that to happen. Anyway, did your agreement with the girl mention the car?"

"Theresa is willing to swear that she gave the boy permission."

"You should tell her to never swear to anything false, especially when it is both unnecessary and implausible. You didn't mention the car when contracting for her services, but now -- thinking about it afterwards -- do you think that your state of mind when you put her in charge of the house included giving her that authority?"

"Certainly."

"Does your wife?"

"Absolutely. She's damn grateful for what those kids did."

"Then we ask the girl the same question. If she agrees, then you have three parties to a verbal contract who agree that she had that authority. A contract is a meeting of the minds. Verbal contracts can cause all sorts of trouble, but the minds met in this verbal contract.

"If you gave her the authority to permit the boy to drive the car, then he did it with permission. The state has some sort of level of proof to meet, It may well be beyond a reasonable doubt. It's not a question I've seen before."

"Pardon?" Bill said.

"Pardon me. I was getting off into complexities which don't matter. The police may well be dropping this. If they aren't, they should talk to you -- or your wife. The answer is that he did drive the car, the babysitter did give permission, and she did have authority. You might also point out that he drove your baby in your car to the emergency room. You won't sign a complaint.

"It isn't the sort of case that the police want to pursue."

"Well, he drove it afterward. Theresa asked him to drive her home, and then drive Shannon home."

"At that point, there is no question that he had permission. Now, I think that I do have a paying client." He went to greet him where Charlotte had asked him to have a seat.

After dealing with the lawyer about Steve, Bill took care of Shannon's pay. Theresa had pointed out that she deserved something extra. She also deserved something special. He wrote a check for cash, and pulled a one-hundred dollar bill out of his drawer. It was a nice fresh, clean, bill. Someone who preferred cash might get a charge out of the denomination and the freshness. He'd take the pay and the news to Shannon this afternoon after seeing Amy. Wednesday was his early day.

Rachel Anderson had lunch ready to go when she heard the Jeep in the driveway. Roger kissed her at the doorway, pulled off his gloves and put them in his pockets, and kissed her again, He kneaded her hips during the second kiss. "Now," he said, "that is a welcome."

"Lunch will be three minutes," she said. While he fetched his luggage and washed up, she heated the frying pan to toast the cheese sandwiches. He came up behind her. "You could take the stew to the dining area," she said.

"Sure I could." But he moved his hands up from her waist to her breasts, instead. He ground his semierect penis into the crack between her asscheeks.

"Eat first. You're going to need your strength."

"Boy, the honeymoon is really over."

"Happens," she said, "to most couples who have a kid in college." Roger was her lover, but he was also her family. And feeding her family was almost as primal an instinct as sex.

When they had eaten, however, they shared a sweet kiss. She pulled Roger against her while his hands smoothed her dress down her back again and again. They finally stopped on her hips for a squeeze. She leaned back to unbutton his shirt.

"I left room for dessert," he said. "Wanna move this to the bedroom?"

"Somebody was boasting about the kitchen over the phone."

"Want that?"

"It's nice and warm," she pointed out. She'd left the oven on after the brownies were done.

The high butcher-block table which separated the dining area from the kitchen proper had been cleared. Rachel had obviously been thinking about this. The drapes were closed over the doors out to the deck, but then they often were in winter. Not that anyone was likely to be able to see in. She followed him over to the end of the table.

When he took off her dress, he saw a large wet spot on the skirt. She was left wearing slippers and a bra. She returned to his buttons while he removed the bra. She jumped; he lifted; and she was perched on the table. He stood between her knees. Her breasts were now high enough to kiss easily. His first approach included roving hands as well as sucking lips, but he withdrew enough to remove his shirt and -- in one moment totally abandoning contact -- his undershirt.

She leaned forward for a deep kiss. Tongue played with tongue; breasts pressed into chest; four hands roved. He kissed down from her mouth. He took his time on neck and shoulder. He kissed all over the smoothness of her breasts and the valley between. He licked and sucked each nipple while his hands stroked her thighs.

Rachel had been anticipating this all day. Hot words and a cold vibrator might get her off, but they were poor substitutes for her warm lover. She sank back on the table as Roger's mouth trailed lower. When he finally reached her mound, however, he jumped to the inside of her thigh. She felt the sensual tide rise as his sucks and licks crept up her right thigh from just above her knee almost to the crease where her leg met her groin.

When he got a nose-full of Rachel's odor, Roger almost dived in. He was tempted to abandon his play for immediate kisses to her center; hell, he was tempted to drop his pants and give her genitals what they really needed. But that would be better this evening, when she'd already had an explosive orgasm earlier. He retreated to her other knee and approached her center even more slowly. With her desire now fully stoked, though, he could suck almost as hard as he wished.

A kiss on one side of her lower lips, a kiss on the other side; Rachel needed more than teasing. She spread her lips with her hands so that Roger's next lick would strike within them.

She was spilling her nectar now, and he was lapping it up. He licked one side of her valley, licked the other side; she writhed. When he finally touched the button on top, she grabbed his hair to press his mouth against her. Still he teased with soft licks which just missed her clitoris. She sobbed, writhed, and soaked his chin with her juice before he sucked there.

She'd been pulling him into her groove as hard as she could pull; she'd been trying to push her clitoris into his mouth with thrusts of legs which were simply dangling in the air; she'd been crying in her desire and frustration. She'd been just this side of a climax, and she had needed it.

Then it crashed into her. She pulsed, pulsed again and again. It tore through her. The tearing was glory. Then the tearing was a joy. Then it was agony. Then there was nothing.

He stopped licking as soon as Rachel stopped responding. One last soft kiss for those lovely, liquid-soaked lips. Then his kisses were for the belly, now quivering with her gasps for air. After granting her two minutes' grace, he lifted her knees onto his shoulders. He had her breasts in his hands when he bent to her cunt again.

She was so sensitive this time that his tongue on her lips almost hurt. Still, she spiraled upward. The climax took her, gathered her up, shook her, and left her gasping on the table. But this time Roger was supporting her when next she noticed the outer world; he was holding her legs against his warm chest.

"I love you," Roger said. It was the first thing that either of them had said in ten minutes. This was one thing that phone sex didn't give them. Hearing her orgasm was nothing like seeing it, to say nothing of smelling and tasting it. He lowered her legs to his waist. He did love her; he loved her orgasms and her spasmic response to them. That didn't mean that he really enjoyed her heels kicking his ribcage.

"I love you, too," she said. It took all the breath she could manage.

His fingers entered her as he bent to her breasts. As he kissed them, his finger searched out the little bump on the top of her tunnel.

Rachel felt overwhelmed. She crossed her ankles behind his back to keep her legs on that unstable platform, His mouth was on her right breast, a hand on her left one. Two fingers of his other hand had invaded her vagina, exploring gently but relentlessly. A different stimulus, this rubbing nearly allowed her to catch her breath before she spiraled upwards again.

He heard her breath grow ragged and sensed the tension in her belly beneath his chest. These, much as he welcomed them, were only warning signs. The actual orgasm gripped his fingers. "Oh, Rachel," he said. When she tightened around them, he sucked hard on the nipple in his mouth. When the grip loosened, he resumed his stroking. After a final flutter around him, she relaxed all over. Even her legs loosened their grips on each other and slid down.

He left his fingers within the liquid warmth. "Oh, Rachel!" he said. "That was so wonderful. You are the loveliest woman, the loveliest sight in the world. And you feel better than you look." He watched the mottled skin return to her normal pinkness, saw her nipples reassert themselves, saw her gasps change to deep breaths.

"Help me up," she said.

"I'll help you up to the sky."

She shook her head. "Can't."

"Sure you can. Question is whether you want to. Come on..."

After a long moment, she nodded. He slid his fingers across her G spot again, moving very slowly. He kissed each nipple briefly and then sucked hard and long at the valley between her breasts. He kissed slowly down to her mound. He only licked above his fingers, but she was flowing so freely that he could taste it even so. Her clitoris was withdrawn, and he touched the hood with just the tip of his tongue. He lapped up the neighborhood, though, and increased his pressure on the inside.

Despite her denial, she certainly could respond to the double stimulation. She moaned this time just before she came. When her gripping tunnel held his fingers still, he licked directly over her clit. When she relaxed her grip, he rubbed her G spot again. Finally he sucked when he rubbed. He was rewarded with a stronger and longer grip.

Then she collapsed onto the table. He went to her head, grabbing some paper napkins from the table as he passed. He wiped his face before kissing her forehead. Then he kissed each eyebrow. He wiped his hands as clean as he could. He kissed her near shoulder and waited for her breathing to return to normal.

When she puckered up, he kissed her on the mouth. They didn't try tongue-play this time. He kissed her forehead again and asked, "Want help up?"

"Minute." A bit later, "Wanna try?"

He helped her straighten up on the table. She sat there for a few minutes, and then came into his arms. He straightened while hugging her, stepped back, and set her on her feet. She grabbed her own clutch of napkins and held them between her legs. They both walked to the bathroom, she sat on the toilet seat while he drew the tub. He steadied her as she eased down into the hot water. He washed his hands and wiped his face with a washcloth before leaving her to her soak.

He unpacked and changed his slacks. Somehow there were two smears of wetness on his right pants leg. He lay down for a minute, but forced himself to rise when he started drifting off. Rachel would be much happier if the table were cleaned when she got out of the tub. Besides he probably had room for another bowl of stew.

Rachel had turned the hot water on again when Roger knocked and walked in. "I'm an old woman, mother of a college girl in her twenties," she said. "I am not the sort of person you should make love to when I'm lying on a wooden table. Besides, you gave me two hickeys."

"Can you dress so they're hidden?"

"Between my breasts and here." She pointed to the inside of her thigh. It was almost to her groin.

"Somebody suggested the bedroom. Somebody else insisted on the kitchen."

"Look," he continued, "we have a problem." She raised her eyebrows. "Your juices were all over that table. Enough that some dripped to the floor. More soaked in. In a few hours Steve is going to be sitting a foot or so from where that puddle was. Now, Steve isn't the most perceptive kid in the world. Still I keep reminding myself that the boy I dandled on my knee is now old enough to vote. (Damn! I'm not old enough to have a kid of eighteen.) Anyway, he probably knows what pussy juice smells like by now."

"He's always so oblivious," she said.

"Sure, and that's half the problem. Most kids his age have accepted that mommy sometimes enjoys daddy in bed. I don't want his first realization to be that Mommy enjoyed herself on the table where his food is prepared."

"Somebody else enjoyed himself, too. Is it really detectable?"

"Dearest, I had spent all that time soaking my face in attar of Rachel. I was saturated. My sensitivity to that odor has to be at an all-time low. I smelled it before I walked in the dining area. I'm soaking it up with bicarb; then I'll use bleach. What happens if we greet Steve with a meal in the Jeep? Then we can drive him to the drugstore."

"Get me my robe, will you?"

She decided on spaghetti instead of the traditional Dad's-home venison. Spaghetti not only was a good meal for an in-car picnic, the odor of a good spaghetti sauce would mask anything in the kitchen.

"I'm not here," Steve said when Ken started to mark attendance at the meeting. Several kids laughed. "My parents are picking me up in forty minutes. I just thought I'd see what I had to do tomorrow."

"Well," said Mr. Babaian. "Still it is generous to give a little extra time." After Heather showed how to cut out the hearts, Mr. Babaian came over to the table where Steve and Shannon were sitting. "By the way, Steve, one tiny point. You said, 'I so move, ' when you made the motion about the cupids."

So much had happened since then that Steve had to think back. "Um, yes."

"Actually, 'I move that whatever' would have been better. When Ken asks 'May I have a motion for adjournment?' that's when you say 'I so move.' That's because you don't state the motion. When you state the motion you move... Are you following this?"

"Not too well. It was so long ago."

"Steve, it was yesterday."

"Steve had a long night," said Shannon. "I was babysitting this girl who got sick. Steve drove her to the hospital for me, and he didn't get home till late. Maybe he had better concentrate on the art lesson today, and cover the civics when he's awake."

Mr. Babaian laughed. "Maybe he'd better concentrate on physics tonight. We'll cover Robert's Rules of Order another day. Your girl?" he asked Steve.

"Yes."

"Keep her. You'll never do better than that." He went off to another table.

"I don't see it," Steve said. "Admittedly you're a pretty girl. But I got written up in Mrs. Foster's black book for saying one tenth of that." Shannon shrugged. "Look for the Jeep when you leave," Steve continued. "Maybe there'll be a piece of venison for you."

Bill Jensen held a children's book on his lap as Amy watched the television. He'd used the surface to write his letter to Shannon. He'd expressed his gratitude, he'd mentioned the pay, he'd explained why the lawyer felt that Steve was in no danger. What more was needed? Oh yes. "Amy, do you want to say thank you to Shannon for taking care of you when you were sick?"

Amy nodded her head and went back to watching the televised art lesson. He put "Amy says thanks" in the letter. He'd been planning to read the book as his last act, but it wouldn't compete with the TV. He kissed her goodbye, got a truly warm hug, and saw that she was concentrating on the screen when he waved from the door.

He'd considered Shannon's being home and nobody being home. (Would he leave the letter with a hundred dollars in cash in their mail box? What if there were a mail slot in the door?) The actuality was that Shannon's mother was home. "She has a meeting after school. I don't know how long it will last but it can't be that much longer."

"I just wanted to thank her for what she did last night."

"And what did she do? I got the impression that there was an emergency, but don't know any of the details."

So he told her everything from his perspective. He stressed that they had given permission for Steve to be present. He told her the lawyer's opinion that Steve wouldn't get into any trouble over the car.