Epilogue

There was something that went on at the wedding that I knew nothing about until later.

Rachel came with her parents, and spent the day going from one pregnant woman to the next, asking for and receiving permission to caress each swollen belly. She also spent a lot of time with Tanya and Christopher.

No one had told Sabrina that Rachel wanted me for her birthday. To be honest, we all thought it was a phase she would soon grow out of.

Apparently, it really IS true that a woman never forgets her first.

Rachel plopped down beside Sabrina while I was dancing with Martha, who was elated, as she said it, that she didn't have to oil up Fred's old double barreled shotgun, now that I had done the smartest thing in my life.

While that was happening, Rachel calmly announced that her birthday was in five months. Then SHE informed Sabrina that there was a "prior claim", as she put it, on me, and asked Sabrina if she would still honor that claim.

It was audacious in the extreme, and something I never would have even dreamed might happen.

Sabrina, though, saw or heard something in Rachel's young voice that she sensed was quite serious. As they talked, she found out that, after we had visited them, Todd and Lizzie had called Rachel's 'birthday present' off, and had offered to let her date as a substitute. She turned them down flat, saying that she'd forgo the dating, insisting that she wanted me to make love with her again. Then Lizzie told her she'd have to get Sabrina's permission. Lizzie, of course, assumed her daughter would never think of doing that, and that Rachel would eventually forget me and grab at the chance to go out with boys.

The REASON Sabrina told me all this, so long after it happened, was that an invitation to Rachel's fifteenth birthday party showed up in our mail box, addressed to me.

"What am I supposed to do?" I asked, goggling at my bride, who was now bulging like she had a basketball under her shirt.

Sabrina sighed. "She's just such a sweet girl."

"That doesn't tell me what I'm supposed to do," I complained. "I'm a married man now."

"Did you promise her she could have you for her birthday?" asked my wife.

"Well ... I don't remember exactly," I said uncertainly. "I mean it was kind of a joke ... you know?"

"She doesn't think it was a joke," said my wife. "The way I was brought up, a promise is a promise." Sabrina completely ignored the fact that I hadn't validated "the promise".

I stared at her. In the five months we had been married, I had made hot, passionate love to the Amazon warrior princess, frequently, and hadn't even thought about any other woman. When you're with a woman like Sabrina, that's just the deal. You're also too tired if Sabrina is involved.

"You can't be serious," I choked. "That would be cheating!"

"You had sex with married women before," said Sabrina maddeningly. "You cheated with them then."

"But I wasn't married then," I said. "I couldn't have cheated on you then, because I didn't even know you existed!"

"If I gave you permission, it wouldn't be cheating," she said simply.

"This is crazy!" I moaned. "You're not going to tell me I can go out and do that!"

"Is it any crazier than what you did with Tanya, or Lizzie, or Micky, or ANY of the rest of them, Bob?" she drove on. "I believe you told me they had 'odd life styles'. Wasn't that what you called it?"

"Are you actually telling me you WANT me to go have sex with Rachel on her birthday?" I croaked, my voice breaking.

"All I'm saying, darling, is that she's a sweet, sweet girl, who has given up what most girls want, to be able to have a special birthday with the man who made her a woman."

Being a woman, she didn't actually answer the question. It wasn't fair. Had she asked a question, it would have been something like "Does this make me look fat?" You know, one of those questions you can't answer, because if you tell the truth you're in big trouble, and if you lie she somehow knows it, and you're still in big trouble.

But, let ME ask a question ... a simple one at that ... and one that I actually WANTED an honest answer to, regardless of what that answer was, and ... nothing. No guidance. No permission, or lack thereof. Apparently, it was all up to me whether I went to Rachel's birthday party, and what would happen there.

Now you know why men go crazy when there's a woman in their lives.

It sort of sounded like she might be telling me that she wouldn't throw me out if I ... did ... something. By the same token, if I did ... something ... it might cause the coaster car to come off the tracks.

Rather than have a mental breakdown, I held up my hand.

"I need to think," I said. "Please go be beautiful and desirable somewhere else for a little while."

Sabrina kissed me, and smiled a smile I had no idea what meant, and toddled off to the kitchen. She turned and spoke over her lovely shoulder.

"By the way, I can't go to her party. I'll be busy that night over at the women's shelter. I believe I have phone duty from five to midnight."

I was trained in psychology. I retreated to the realm of the unknowable, to ponder the unsolvable.

If you've ever watched TV, or been to an action adventure movie, you have watched, often with glee, as some bad person was blown away, or dropped from a tall building, or whatever. If you had a date with you, she may have clapped when it happened. I remember, in college, a foreign film was screened. It was called "The Bad Seed" and it had subtitles in English. It was also in black and white, so you'd have thought nobody would hang around to the finish. It was about a girl, maybe eight or ten, blond, cute, adorable in every way, except for the little fact that she killed people. She killed them without mercy, and in horrible ways. She ... was the bad seed. In the end, as I recall, she was on a pier, sticking out into a pond or something like that. When she was struck by lightning, six hundred voices rose in exultation from the audience. The place went absolutely crazy as people jumped up and danced. The bad seed had gotten what she deserved.

Now, take your date out on the street. It is pitifully simple to find a bad seed in any city you choose to name. Maybe this bad seed doesn't kill people in gruesome ways, but still, they are wasting perfectly good air just by breathing it. If you spent any effort at all, you could find one. You KNOW that is true.

Point one out to your date. "See there? That, my darling is a bad seed! Quick, get me my pistol out of the glove box! I'm going to rid the world of this malodorous evil-doer."

Do you think she'll hand you the pistol? Do you think your best friend would?

Not a chance. They'd all be horrified by the idea of you doing what actually needed to be done to make the world a better place.

On the other hand, imagine reading in the paper how the same person was killed, maybe by an "unknown assailant", or a victim, who fought back when the bad seed was trying to do something horrible to him. Most people would nod sagely and say "Got what he deserved!"

You see, we all know what should and should not happen. Call it conscience if you want to. And we all know that predators should be dealt with, so the rest of us are safer. But nobody wants to be the one to do it, or facilitate someone else doing it. That's what the law is for, right? We sanction that activity if it's done by those we hire to do it, or by someone who is defending themselves.