Chapter 5

When we came back from Colorado, I'd like to say we slipped easily into our new life together, but it wasn't that simple. It was easy enough to refer to him as "Stephen", rather than "Dad". All I had to do was replace one word with another. How tough is that? But in my mind, making the transition wasn't as straightforward, and I feared he was having the same difficulties as myself.

During that first week home, I think we could both feel the strangeness of our new situation. But the die had been cast and there was no going back. I longed for a sense of familiarity again; for things to be normal. However, I didn't want to go back to our previous relationship, either. I wanted to move forward, but was scared. I didn't know what do to. Most people seem to figure out how to work a relationship based on what they've experienced or learned by watching others. You prepare yourself for marriage by dating, by watching your parents, by seeing how others already in a committed relationship make it work. But there aren't any social models for being in an intimate physical and emotional relationship with your own father. You can't ask your guidance counselor for advice, consult your minister, or ask the school nurse for a pamphlet. You're on your own.

On top of that, I now had a boyfriend with whom I was living. It was difficult enough thinking of my dad as my boyfriend, but now I was living with him as such. The boundaries that had been established over the years were now lying in shambles. He had the parent and I the child. I had my room, my private space, and he had his. When I wanted to be alone, I simply walked up to my bedroom and shut the door. Stephen knew not to bother me, though sometimes, out of parental concern, he did knock lightly and ask to come in. And when he was in his study, I made it a habit not to pester him - too much, that is.

He took a shower first in the morning, and then I would take mine. I kept my toiletries on one side of the cabinet and his were on the other. I would make dinner and he would help clean the dishes. When I did the laundry, he would help fold the dry clothes.

Now suddenly everything was changing. My dad was not only my boyfriend but also my lover. I was very likely pregnant by him, and the arrival of our new baby would be cause for even more drastic changes within our life together. Some things would remain the same, but others wouldn't. Everything seemed to be happening so quickly, and I didn't have a clue as to what to do next.

I guess that's what I didn't like: working without a map. Sure, I had a compass: a built-in sense of direction. But, just like trying to find my way through a forest without a map, not only did I have to keep my eyes looking forward at all times, I also had to be careful not to trip on any snags or become ensnared in thistles. In short, Stephen and I had to blaze our own trail.

Not long after we returned from vacation, I was in the kitchen preparing breakfast one Saturday morning, having just finished my shower and clad only in my panties and a towel on my head. I heard Stephen coming down the stairs and, when he entered the kitchen, I turned and smiled. He was yawning and scratching his head.

"Mornin', sleepy," I chirped, scooping a pancake from the pan and setting it on a plate with its companions.

Stephen gave me a drowsy grin and scratched his chest. He came over and was quiet for a few moments, as he watched. I lifted another pancake from the pan, and then he leaned down and kissed my cheek, placing his hand on my back.

"You oughta get dressed, Jessie," he whispered.

The smile on my face slowly ebbed. There was something about how he said that, which didn't sit right with me. Then he patted my back, saying he was going to take a shower. I watched him slowly walk back upstairs to the bathroom, and a minute later heard the water running.

I stood there for a few seconds staring down at the plate of pancakes, thinking about what he'd just said. But it wasn't his actual words that struck a nerve. It was how he said them. It wasn't like he was saying, "Hey! Get dressed so we can go outside and explore this beautiful day together!" It was more like, "I'm screwing my daughter and having a hard time dealing with it, so could you please not walk around naked?"

I must have been standing there for a long time, because I didn't come out of my trance until I heard the shower turn off. I put another plate atop the one filled with pancakes to keep them warm and went to the bedroom to get dressed. As I stood by my dresser, having just zipped my shorts, Stephen came in the room. He had a towel around his waist and gave me a brief smile, as he went to his dresser. I opened a drawer and pulled out a t-shirt, slipping my arms inside and pulling it down over my body. Then I turned and watched him step into his boxers. I smiled, but it was only half-hearted. I felt like saying something, but didn't know what.

With his back still to me, he leaned down slightly, opening another drawer, and seemed to be searching for something. Then he looked over his shoulder at me. I smiled and blindly used one hand to search for my hairbrush on my dresser, not wanting him to know I was staring.

"Hey, uh..." he muttered, then looked back down to the open drawer in front of him. "Did you... Have you seen my t-shirts? Those new ones I got before we left?"

I set my hairbrush down and walked over to his closet.

"I put 'em right here," I replied, reaching up to the shelf inside, and then turned, handing the package to him.

Stephen gave me a quick grin. "Thanks," he said.

I stood there for a moment with my hands in my back pockets watching him. When his head emerged from one of his new t-shirts, he tucked it into his shorts, asking if breakfast was ready. I smiled and nodded quickly. As he turned to brush his hair, he grinned at my reflection in the mirror.

"You didn't have to do that," he said.

I blinked, as I was pulled out of yet another daydream, and looked at him.

"Hm?"

"Breakfast," he said. "I coulda helped."

I shrugged. "S'ok," I replied. "No biggie. I don't mind."

When Stephen was ready, we walked downstairs and had breakfast. Our talk was small, mainly about what he wanted to do that day; mostly work around the house and yard. Our vacation pictures were ready to be picked up the day before, but both of us had forgotten about it, so I volunteered to get them.

He helped me clean the dishes, and then went outside to get started mowing the lawn. I watched him from the back door, as he brought the mower out of the garage. Stephen gave the cord a few hard jerks and it suddenly sputtered to life, spitting out a small black cloud. I could see his lips move, as he grumbled, and then slowly began the tedious task of cutting the grass.

Stephen really hated mowing the lawn, so I decided to let him do half, and then finish the remainder for him. I hated it, as much as he did, but with two of us on the job, it wouldn't be quite an irksome chore.

It would be a while before he'd finish his half, so I put on my socks and shoes and went out the back door. Stephen was walking toward me, staring down at the grass as he pushed the lawn mower. I stood by the back porch with my arms folded and waited for him to come closer. When the mower was next to me, he turned down the throttle and smiled.

"I'm gonna go get the pictures," I said.

"Pict-... ?... Oh, yeah... Ok."

"I'll mow the other half, when I get back, too," I added.

We exchanged smiles and he said ok. Just as he turned up the throttle to start mowing again, I stepped over to him, standing up on my toes to kiss him on the lips. But as he put one arm around me, he turned so my lips would land on his cheek instead. I hesitated for a second, and then kissed him lightly.

"Back in a bit," I said, and turned to walk away.

I slowly moped along the sidewalk, my arms folded, weighing heavily on my chest. Something was wrong and I'd been noticing it all week. Our first night home, we were still riding high on a wave of emotions; elated and feeling good; feeling better than ever before. We kissed and embraced so much for the first few days, but the novelty of it all seemed to wear to a thin nub. The change I had longed for was finally mine, but I hadn't considered the aftereffects and how we would deal with them.

We still kissed and embraced, but there was a subtle change in the ambience surrounding us. Things seemed more sober now. It was as if going to Colorado had temporarily freed us; we were at recess and unshackled, free to play and explore and forget the troubles and banalities of life. But then the bell rang and recess was over. We packed our gear and drove home; the kids trudged back into their dreary classrooms. And, like the child sitting at his desk and staring at the clock, waiting for the drudgery to end, I walked along the sidewalk that morning wondering when it would end for us, too. When would we get past this annoying uneasiness?

Then there was a loud honk.

I looked up and found myself in the middle of a crosswalk. There was a pickup truck next to me. I must have walked out in front of it. The driver, a middle-aged man angrily waving a cigarette in one hand and wildly gesturing with the other, was yelling out his window.

"Jesus Christ, kid! What the hell ya thinkin'?! Move it!"

I quickly held up my hand, trying to apologize with a timid smile, and scooted across the street. As the truck continued on its way, I heard the driver shout out his window.

"Idiot!"

Walking along, I folded my arms and sniffed, and then felt a tear roll down my cheek and quickly wiped it away. I was beginning to wonder, if he wasn't right: maybe I was an idiot.

I was in love with my dad. My father. I was sleeping with him, having sex with him, and now I was probably pregnant by him. And, on top of all that, something had changed between us and I didn't know what, and the uncertainty of what would become of us scared the hell out of me. I sniffed again and angrily wiped my eyes. That was the first, and only, time I ever regretted professing my love for him. But there was nothing I could do about it now. I couldn't go back to the way things had been, and I was too frightened to take a step forward.

"C'mon, Jessie! Don't be such a scaredy cat!"

I was standing high up on the bank of the Arkansas River, not a week and a half earlier, while my dad stood in the water down below. I was holding a rope that would allow me to swing out into the water. Dad was smiling up at me, as I stood on the bank and grinned nervously, my knees shaking and hands trembling.

"What if I land head-first?!" I screamed excitedly.

Dad shook his head and laughed.

"Then don't land on your head!" he cried.

I stamped my feet and giggled. "Oh, God," I mumbled.

"Will you catch me?" I called.

He furled his eyebrows and held out his hands.

"Jess!" he replied with a bewildered expression. "How am I s'posed to catch you? C'mon, just do it! You'll be fine!"

I tightened my grip on the rope and hopped up, clinging desperately to it. Gravity and momentum pulled me out across the water, and my eyes got wide as I approached him. When I was at the extent of my swing, dad yelled out.

"Now let go! C'mon, Jessie! Jump!"

I wrapped my legs around the rope and squealed.

"Nooo!"

And then I slowly swung back to the riverbank.

When my feet were once again on solid ground, I stopped and looked out at dad. I was bent over panting and smiling anxiously. He slowly dropped his hands and smiled up at me.

"Scared?" he called.

I nodded nervously.

And then, in a calm voice, above the din of gurgling water, I heard him say very clearly, "Come out here, Jessie." It was as if all the sounds and distractions around me had been blocked out, my mind developing an acute sense of tunnel vision, and the only thing between us was my own fear of the unknown. My breathing became shallow and I could hear my heart beating in my chest. I looked at the wet brown rope in my hands, and my fingers wiggled around it, gripping it tightly. Then I looked out to dad standing in the water. He was smiling and waving me to him. It looked like he was saying something. I glanced down at my feet. They seemed to lift on their own, and suddenly the ground was rushing past. Then I saw water moving swiftly under me.

"Well!" I thought. "This isn't so bad."

Then I heard dad's soft voice again.

"Now just let go, Jessie."

I smiled and opened my fingers, and my body began floating through the air. As I descended, I turned my head up just in time to make eye contact with him. We both smiled, and then I saw the water rapidly rising up to meet me.

"Ohhh CRA-... !"

SPLASH!

I slammed face-first into the cold water and was sucked down into a murky brown cocoon. The rushing water enveloping my body muffled my hearing, and I frantically began flailing my arms and kicking my feet. My mouth was opening and closing rapidly, the frigid water chilling my tongue and teeth. I felt myself choking and started to panic.

"Da-... !"

I flopped around in the water some more and my head surfaced.

"DAD!"

Then I felt hands on my waist, gripping me hard and pulling me upright.

"Jess!"

I choked and spit out water.

"Jessie! Calm down! You're ok, just calm down!"

I was trying to stand, but kept losing my footing. Then I felt the hands on my shoulders, gently shaking me.

"Jessie, open your eyes. Open your eyes, honey."

I was spitting and gasping for air. Dad wiped the water and hair from my face, as I slowly opened my eyes. I was shivering and he smiled down at me, my teeth chattering, as I tried to grin back at him.

"Hi," he said with a big warm smile.

"... h-hi b-back," I stuttered.

Dad ran his hands up and down my arms, trying to calm me down. I looked around and saw I was standing in water up to my chest. I shivered and he pulled me to him, hugging me closely. I leaned my head against his chest, my teeth still chattering.

"That wasn't so bad was it?" he asked, looking down at me.

I was holding my arms together between us and slowly shook my head no.

"Wanna do it again?" he asked.

I shook my head again.

Dad chuckled and lifted my chin with his finger.

"Was it worth it?" he asked.

I laid my hands flat against his chest and nodded.

"... y-yeah..." I whispered.

"Hey, miss?"

I turned around. The clerk was staring at me, holding out his hand.

"You want your change or is this a tip?"

A broad smile crept across his face, as I walked over and took my change, mumbling thanks.

Outside the drugstore, I looked down at the envelope in my hands. It was stuffed with photographs from our vacation. I looked around for a place to sit and saw a spot down near a newspaper machine. I walked over and carefully lowered myself to the sidewalk in front of the store and crossed my legs. Then I pulled out the pictures and, one by one, flipped through the stack.

The first was of me sleeping in the car on the drive to Colorado. Dad must have been trying to drive and take the picture at the same time, as the whole scene was canted at a sharp angle. I was leaning against the door with my mouth slightly open.

The next one made me laugh. We had stopped at a gas station, and dad was walking out of the restroom and looking down at the front of his shorts, apparently seeing if he remembered his fly.

There was another of me sitting in front of a campfire. I was smiling and my pupils were glowing bright red. I smirked, as I gazed at the image. "That seems appropriate," I muttered, quickly flipping to the next picture. That was the night I first had oral sex with him.

One after the next, I went through the pictures; some of me, some of him, some of us together. One in particular caught my eye. It was a picture of me sitting on a large boulder watching a small herd of mountain goats. We use to see them all the time not far from our campsite, either very early in the morning or late in the evening. I awoke early one day, determined to see them up close. While dad slept, I quickly dressed and slipped out of the tent. The campground was quiet. Two men were pulling fishing poles from the back of a car, but otherwise, everyone remained tucked away inside their tents. As I walked past the two men, I smiled, and the older of the two touched a finger to his cap and said good morning. They looked like father and son.

I walked out the gates of the campground and a short way down the gravel road to the place where we always saw the mountain goats, perhaps only five or six. As I came around the base of Ruby Mountain, more of a large rocky hill than a true mountain, I heard the bleat of a goat. I froze in my tracks and smiled wide. Then, very cautiously, I weaved my way through some large boulders and peaked out between two. There in front of me, not thirty yards away, were the goats peacefully grazing. I moved back behind the rocks and found one I thought I could climb. The dew on my tennis shoes caused my feet to slip a few times, but eventually I managed to haul myself atop one. As I made my ascent, I slowly poked my head over the boulder. The goats were still there. I slowly raised myself up until I was in a comfortable sitting position. Then I bent my knees up and wrapped my arms around my legs and watched in silence.

One goat had great horns curling out from his head. I took him for a male, probably their leader. At one point, I stifled a sneeze and he held his head up sharply, stomping his front hoof. The other goats instantly stopped eating and raised their heads. They all remained motionless for a moment, and when their leader slowly lowered his head to continue grazing, the others followed suit.

I'm not sure how long I sat there. When I first arrived, the light of dawn was slowly creeping over the mountains. I didn't have a watch, so when I felt sunlight striking my back, I figured it was time to leave. I gave the goats a little wave, and then slowly rotated in place and slid down out of view.

I sat looking at this picture, wondering when dad had taken it. How did he know where I was? He must have followed me. He never did say anything about taking it.

After I'd been through all the pictures, I put them back in the envelope and stood, brushing myself off. Then I turned and began the walk home.

I tried to tell myself these feelings of depression I was having were nothing new; I'd had them before, upon returning home from vacation. It's like the end of a party. You're laughing, having a good time, not a care in the world, and then it's all over and you have to go home. I suppose part of my depression stemmed from this. But it was also do to the abrupt change in my relationship with my dad. I thought we'd come home from Colorado and the joy we found together there would follow us. Well, in a way it did. I was still very much in love with him and made no secret of it. Likewise, he'd told me the same thing many times over the last week. I think the problem was, we had created a square peg while on vacation and were now trying to cram it into a round hole.

Walking home on that sunny Saturday morning, I started feeling a little more upbeat. The discomfort wasn't between us, but was a result of trying to shift from father and daughter to being a couple in love. Instead of trying to pry a square peg into a round hole, I reasoned, why not simply make the hole bigger? I couldn't believe I didn't figure this out sooner. This wasn't any different than the initial bumps any other relationship experiences. We merely had to grow accustomed to our new roles in each other's lives. And how bad can that be? Stephen loved me and I loved him. We'd be there for each other the whole way. I was actually starting to look forward to this trek into the unknown.

A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step, so the saying goes, and that was the answer I was looking for. Just take small steps and eventually you'll land at your destination.

When I arrived home, dad was mowing the front yard. I smiled when I saw him, but then quickly frowned. If he was doing the front yard, that meant he was done with the back. I ran over and grabbed his arm from behind. Startled, he jumped and whirled around. I smiled, and he shut off the mower.

"Sorry," I said trying to catch my breath.

"No problem," he chuckled. Then he wiped his hands on his t-shirt and pointed to the envelope in my hand.

"Get the pictures?" he asked.

I handed them to him, saying, "Yep. That's what took me so long. I stopped to look at 'em."

As he opened the envelope, he grinned and turned to walk back to the house.

"You, uh... you want me to finish the yard then?" I called.

He was looking down at the pictures and held up a hand.

"Go ahead," he replied. "And don't forget to trim."

Half an hour later, I pushed the mower back into the garage and shut the door. I went over to the garden hose and rinsed the grass off my feet and legs, and then walked up the back steps and into the kitchen.

"Dad?"

I stopped and closed my eyes, shaking my head. I had to stop calling him that. This was the type of little step forward I had to take.

As I entered the living room, I saw the pictures sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch. They were fanned out a little, as though he were looking for one in particular. I walked over and fingered through them, trying to see which one he'd taken. Then I heard him moving around in his office down the hall.

I quietly walked to his study. The door was mostly closed, open perhaps only an inch. I slowly pushed on it and poked my head inside. Stephen was standing by one of his file cabinets. The top drawer was pulled out and he was holding a sheet of paper. He seemed to be studying it. On his desk, I could see a photograph. It looked like one from our vacation.