Marie, I'm writing this for you because you seemed hurt when I didn't answer you last week at the funeral home. You saw how long Tom and I held each other and asked I came to be so close to him. And I just said it was a long story and I would tell you later, but I never did explain. It's just hard to say, Marie. It's hard to put into words.

You see, it wasn't really about Tom and me, even though we've always been about as close as two cousins could be who had entirely different lives and a dozen years of age between them. It was about Natalie and me. She was the common bond between Tom and me, the one who made our friendship close and lasting.

Natalie gave Tom her whole life, and Tom loved her as much as I've always loved you. I confess to you now that I've always loved Natalie, too, ever since Tom married her and brought her into my life. I've carried her in a special place in my heart, a place reserved just for her, ever since the first day I legally drove my daddy's 1959 Ford Fairlane.

I never thought of the '59 Fairlane back then as one of those hot muscle cars, but I could drive it, and that was all that mattered to me. I was 16. I had passed my driver's test earlier in the day and had my license. And Daddy had let me borrow the car. I couldn't believe it: for the moment, at least, I was free.

I headed straight to Natalie's place.

Where else would I have gone?

I had never knew known Natalie before she was Tom's wife, but she fascinated me. Physically, she didn't have the face or the body that have would put her on any "10 Most Beautiful" lists. Her face was much too round for that, and her eyes and mouth were much too big. Most people probably would've called her more cute than beautiful, and her face didn't quite seem to match her tall, lean, almost athletic body, although it did seem perfect with her dark brown hair, which she kept short and simple in a time when most of the girls my age were going for that "big hair" look. Her legs were as shapely as any I've ever seen, even now, and her skin was smooth and perfect all over, or at least as "all over" as I ever saw, and it had a kind of creamy glow that helped make her plenty sexy to me. Back then, I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the universe. When her wonderful mouth broke into that incredible smile, those big, blue eyes seemed to light up her whole face, and her laugh would absolutely melt me. Her voice, too, matched her perfectly. It was so full of life, a little deep and almost crackling, as if she were constantly on the verge of breaking out in laughter or song. Add to that the fact that she was open, honest and a little worldly and not overly modest, as most girls closer to my age were in the early '60s, and that she actually liked me, well, I wouldn't have put it in those terms back then, but I had a huge -- huge -- crush on her.

So even before I could drive, I was often down at Tom and Natalie's little frame house. It was only about six miles, and I could easily ride my bike there. And sometimes I'd sneak off in the car. (Hey, we lived on a farm out from Bell's Bluff, and it was just a little bitty town with no cops. It happened.) Mama had scolded me about going there so much, insisting that it "didn't look good" for a teenage boy to be spending so much time with a grown, married woman whose husband wasn't home. I should go there only when Tom was home, she said, because people would talk bad about Natalie if I kept doing that. I didn't want people to talk bad about Natalie, so I tried to go down to their place only when Tom was home and to leave when he climbed into his tractor-trailer and hit the road. But Tom was a cross-country driver, and sometimes he was gone for most of a week, and it was hard to keep going down there and not going in just because the truck wasn't there. Besides, Natalie said she got lonely when Tom was on the road all the time and enjoyed my visits. And we never did anything but talk or play cards or Scrabble anyway -- she was 11 years older than me. So part of me really wanted to just ignore my mama's advice. Still, now that I had the car, I figured it would be easier to just drive on by if the truck wasn't there.

Fortunately, it was.

Tom always was a big guy, a tall, muscular man who looked like a gladiator to me. At 6-foot-3 and 230 pounds, he was an all-state defensive end in football, and I thought he was perfectly in character when he passed up a football scholarship and joined the Marines after high school. When he got back home, married Natalie and brought her to Bell's Bluff, he was the kind of guy most people would look at and pretty much automatically think "ex-Marine." And Natalie thought he hung the moon. He was big enough and tough enough to be as mean as he wanted to be, but he wasn't mean at all, at least not around me. He didn't have a problem with my coming to see Natalie all the time, either, because he knew I wasn't ever going to be any competition to him. Tom was 12 years older than I was, and Natalie was only a year younger than him. I was in high school, 5 inches shorter and 85 pounds lighter than Tom and knew just about nothing, and Tom was a seasoned man of the world making pretty good money on the road. So let's see, an older, handsome ex-Marine with a playful, irreverent maturity and a good income on one hand, a high school second-stringer on the other -- on my most self-absorbed day, I knew I could never compete with Tom. Besides, I truly didn't think of Natalie that way. She was a friend. Not "just" a friend, because Natalie never seemed to be "just" anything to me. She always seemed more than a friend, but, well, she was a friend.

Natalie worked at the elementary school as the school secretary, and she and Tom were saving up to buy a nice house. Neither of them wanted anybody to talk bad about Natalie, but neither cared enough about what other people said to change the way they lived, either. Tom knew Natalie got lonely when he was gone and enjoyed my visits, and that was enough for him. Many times the three of us played cards or Scrabble or another board game together until I had to go home. And sometimes it was just Natalie and me.

My birthday was Dec. 7, an easy date for everybody to remember, and usually the weather was still quite mild in our Deep South town. On my birthday, though, it was cold, cloudy and windy and threatening freezing rain or sleet. I pulled up to the house early and shivered when I got out of the car. I hadn't even put on a jacket before leaving the house -- I never said I was that smart.

Natalie came to the door and broke into that beautiful smile when she opened it, but then quickly frowned. "What in the world are you doing out in this weather without a jacket?" she said.

"Just didn't think about it," I said, stepping in quickly and embracing the warmth of the house.

"You'll wish you had it by the time you leave here, Sport," Tom said, grinning. "It's gonna be a bitch tonight."

"Tom!" Natalie exclaimed. "Watch your language." But we all laughed. It was kind of a game they played, Tom being generally profane most of the time and Natalie always feigning shock when I was around. I knew Natalie's part was all for my benefit, but that was OK. It just made me love them both all the more.

"Tom's going to go out and drive in this mess," Natalie said to me, this time for his benefit. "What kind of idiot would head out on the road in this kind of weather?"

"Come on," Tom said, waving me toward the table. "Finish supper with us." I didn't mind that at all. Natalie was a great cook. "Gotta pick up a load early in the morning," he said. "At least I'll be headed south for this leg."

"When are you leaving?" I asked.

"Soon as I finish off this supper. You don't have to run off, though. Stay and keep Natalie company a while."

Natalie had quickly fixed a plate while Tom and I sat down at the table, and she set it down in front of me, then went back to get me a glass of tea. She had come back with my tea, sat down and started finishing her own supper when suddenly she smacked her forehead and exclaimed, "Oh, shoot! It's your birthday! You're 16 now! It's today, right?"

"Yeah." I tried to be nonchalant about it.

"Happy birthday, Sport," Tom said. "So, you got your driver's license, huh?"

"Yeah." I couldn't help grinning a little about that, but I was still a pretty shy kid. I didn't talk much, except when it was just Natalie and me.

"Well, I'm sorry we didn't get you a birthday present, Ben," Natalie said. "We should've got you something."

"You did," I said, smiling. "Supper." And both of them grinned.

"So, what kind of presents did you get?" Natalie asked. "Are you having a party?"

"No," I said. "I'm too old for parties. I got an alarm clock from Mama -- she says I'm old enough to get myself up now. And I got some clothes. Becky gave me a new billfold. She was disappointed that I didn't already have a driver's license to put in it. She didn't know I have to wait to get it in the mail. Well, really, I didn't, either. But I do."

"Well," Natalie said. "Sounds like you are getting to be grown."

"Yeah, when you stop gettin' toys for your birthday, you'll be out of school and goin' to work soon enough," Tom said, chuckling.

After we ate and talked a while, Natalie got up and started making some sandwiches for Tom to eat on the road. Soon, he was pushing away from the table and reaching for the coat rack. "Well, time to go," he said. "Come give me a kiss."

Natalie handed him a brown paper bag with his sandwiches, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, a long, wet, quietly moaning kiss, her hands holding his neck and then his shoulders as his free hand roamed down her back and suddenly grabbed her behind, causing her to break off the kiss just as suddenly and protest, "Tom!" He laughed and gave her fanny a couple more quick pats and moved out the door. It was the same way I'd seen my own mom and dad mark his departures to work on the farm all my life. Natalie stepped briskly into the kitchen and watched him through the window as his truck pulled away from the house and moved out of sight down the road.

"Should I go?" I asked. I hadn't expected Tom to be leaving so early.

"No!" Natalie blurted, still staring down the empty road. Then she turned around and looked at me, smiling, and said more calmly, "No. It's your birthday, and you came to see me, and I'm flattered. So stay awhile. I don't care what the dirty-minded old biddies say." And suddenly she laughed that wonderful laugh she had, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Let's play some cards."

And that's what we did, well into the night, just playing cards and talking about anything and everything. As of that night, I had been on a total of one date, a double date with my big brother, and I knew nothing at all about girls. But Natalie told me what to do and what not to do when I started dating, now that I could drive.

"Don't be always trying to get into her panties," she said. "I always hated dates like that. Just be yourself. Are you enjoying yourself tonight?"

"Yeah, sure," I said.

"Then just do what you're doing tonight."

"Play cards?"

"No, silly," she laughed. "Of course, if that's what she wants to do, that's OK, too. But what I'm saying is talk to her. Get to know her. Be her friend, like we're friends." And she reached across the table and put her hand over mine, smiling. I think my heart skipped a half-dozen beats while all of my blood rushed down between my legs. Natalie couldn't see that, of course -- it was under the table -- but she obviously had an idea how she was affecting me. "Whoa, friend," she laughed, moving her hand away. I really did love her laugh. "Just be her friend, Ben, and she'll be yours. And if you get to be good enough friends, then maybe it'll turn into something else."

When I felt like I could probably speak again, I asked her, "Is that how you and Tom started?"

"Yeah," she smiled. "Tom didn't have a good reputation, and I really didn't want to go out with him. He was kind of a ladies' man. But after I turned him down several times, I finally agreed to go out on a date with him, just to get it over with. I was convinced I'd have to fight him off all night, and maybe some other girls did, but he wasn't like that with me. He took me bowling. Really. And all night we just talked. Then when he took me home, he kissed me goodnight at my door and asked if we could go out again, and I said yes. I think we went out five or six times before I ever had to fight him off."

"You fought him off?"

"Well, yeah, sort of. I didn't have to fight or anything, but I did have to put my foot down. I told him I didn't want to do that until we were married, and he said, 'What if we don't get married?'

She laughed again, "I told him, 'Then you don't get any.'" And we both laughed. And then she got serious. "It wasn't just that I was 'saving myself for marriage, ' Ben," she said. "I just had to know that the man I was giving myself to really cared for me, and with Tom, considering his reputation and all, the only way I could know that completely, in my heart, was to be married to him."

"So, you wouldn't have trusted him if he hadn't married you?"

She smiled and then wrinkled her nose. "I don't think so," she said. "But he did marry me, and I do trust him. I know he loves me, and I think I always did love him, since he first started asking me out."

She glanced down at her watch. "Whoa, Ben. What time to you have to be home tonight?"

"Eleven."

"Well, you've only got 25 minutes, Sport," she said, getting up from the table. "And it would probably be a good move with your mama if you got home early on your first night out."

"True," I said, getting up, too. I knew she was right, but my heart wasn't into the idea of leaving, and she could tell how I felt. "Let me give you a birthday hug," she said, wrapping her arms around me and pulling me close to her. I put my hands around her waist and held her at least as tightly as she held me, and we stood there for what seemed like a long time to me, just holding each other without saying a word. We were both about 5-foot-8 at the time and seemed to fit each other's body perfectly, and her face was so close to mine that I thought her warm breathing felt like the breezes in heaven must feel. It was a perfect hug except for two things: one, it was not nearly long enough; and two, I had no idea how to hide the sudden reaction I had the moment she began hugging me. I just hoped she wasn't aware of it when she began pulling away.

"Goodnight, Ben." She said, stepping back and making the separation complete. "You better run before you freeze. Next time, don't forget to wear a jacket."

"OK." I couldn't think of anything else to say. I just smiled at her, grateful that I didn't have but two awkward steps to the door, where I blurted over my shoulder, "Thanks for the hug. And the supper."

I paused in the doorway long enough to see her smile broaden, her eyes twinkling again. "It was my pleasure," she said.

Closing the door behind me, losing my view of Natalie and leaving the warmth of the house all quickly took care of my little problem. Not only was it blustery and bitterly cold outside, but it was drizzling rain, so I ran as fast as I could to the Fairlane. It wasn't a lot warmer inside the car, but at least it was dry, and the wind wasn't blowing in there. I sat there for a few minutes, though, thinking about what had just happened. I really hoped Natalie hadn't noticed my little problem, but the more I thought about it, the more I figured she probably had. I mean, I wasn't that big down there at 16, but I wasn't that little, either, and I could feel her pressing against it. And damn, if I felt her, then she probably felt me, and that was really embarrassing. Natalie was my friend. I loved her, and she'd just been telling me not to behave with a girl as if I wanted only to get into her panties. I wondered if I should go back and apologize, but about then the outside light went out, and I figured she was going to bed.

I mulled it over a few more minutes. However much I might have wished it hadn't happened, it had, and I'd just have to figure out what to do about it later, because in the time I'd been fretting over it, I hadn't come a bit closer to stopping shivering in the cold. I was shivering even harder, and I figured I might as well go on home.

But when I cranked the car and turned on the windshield wipers, it was quickly evident that the light rain had begun freezing on the windshield. I couldn't see, and the wipers weren't helping any, so I turned them off. I remembered that Daddy had a little plastic scraper advertising the Ford dealer, so I flipped open the glove box and dug around in it, finally pulling the whole pile of junk out and sorting it out on the seat to find the little yellow scraper.

I realized when I got out of the car that it really had been warmer in there, or at least not as cold. I was seriously shivering as I started scraping the ice off the windshield. Fortunately, it wasn't thick at all, just a thin shell that scraped off pretty easily, and I quickly had the driver's side pretty clear. The passenger side wasn't as important to me, but I still wanted to clear it, so I rushed around to the other side, hoping to make even quicker work of it.

But -- ow! Damn! How did that happen? It felt like something had just lopped off the end of my frigid finger, and in the dim light coming from the kitchen window of the house, I could see blood dripping steadily from my middle finger. I grabbed it, stunned, and studied the puzzling situation just long enough to realize I had banged the end of my finger into the end of the windshield wiper. Shoot! What now? Shivering and bleeding, the only thing I could think of was to go back to the house and see if Natalie had a Band-Aid or two. The kitchen light was still on, and I hadn't been out of there all that long, so surely she was still up.

I knocked on the door with both hands, my good hand holding the bleeder. Nothing. I knocked harder and longer, and then I heard Natalie making her way from the bedroom to the front door. The light over my head flipped on, and I saw Natalie's face in the now-parted curtain on the door window, then heard her fumbling with the door. As she opened it, I pushed into the house, stuttering from the cold, "You got a Band-Aid?"

"Yeah, what happened?" She sounded alarmed, and I hated that.

"Cut my finger," I managed, still shivering, and she took two quick steps to the kitchen wall, flipped on the overhead light and was just as quickly back in front of me. "Let me see," she said, and I showed her my finger.

Let me see, she said. All of this was a blur to me, but in all of that scrambling around, the flash of what I was seeing was just sinking into my consciousness: Natalie had changed for bed and was wearing -- oh, God -- a thin, baby-doll gown that went only to her hips. And apparently, Natalie wasn't thinking in the least about what she looked like, focusing only on what I looked like.

"God," she said. "You're freezing!" She darted across the kitchen and was back in a flash with a dish towel. "Here, hold this on your finger," she said, and as I took it and did as told, she quickly had her arms around me, rubbing my back briskly. "You're so cold!"

True, but I was warming up fast, in more ways than one. After a moment, I turned my head slightly and whispered softly into her ear, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said. "Come with me." And she took my hand, the one holding the dish towel on the bleeding one, and led me down the hallway to the bedroom. I stood just inside the door as she left me and stepped quickly into the bathroom, and I could hear her opening the medicine cabinet. Then she was back in the bedroom, rushing over to me, although by this time I was beginning to see her in slow motion, my eyes drinking in every aspect, every sway of that short gown, every ripple of every muscle in those gorgeous, barefoot legs, every little bounce of those perfect breasts. Damn, she was beautiful to me. She sat on the edge of her bed, reached out and pulled me standing between her perfect legs. "Let me see," she said, and I let go of my hand and the dish towel both, and she held my injured hand as she pulled the towel away. "It's not so bad," she said, holding the finger itself. "You just kind of split the end of it. It's not real deep. Hold the towel on it." She handed the towel back to me, and I held it on the cut finger while she started opening the Band-Aids she'd laid on the bed beside her. I watched her open the first one, but my eyes weren't focused on the Band-Aid but on the beautiful thigh beside it. Yes, I'd seen Natalie in shorts before, but I was seeing her now in panties. Oh, man, there's a big difference. I swallowed hard, and the swallow wasn't the only hard thing in the room.

I studied Natalie's face as she tended to my cut finger, making me hold it straight out as she put the first Band-Aid precisely over the end of my finger, stretching the adhesive ends down along the sides of it, then took the other and wrapped it around the end of the finger and the other Band-Aid, making a perfectly functional, makeshift bandage. She was so beautiful. But just like that, the nursing was over, and she finally looked up smiling into my eyes looking down at her. "All done," she said. But as she put her hands on my hips to push me away so she could stand, she found herself staring at an obvious tent in my pants directly in front of her face. "Oh, my!" she said, and just sat there, staring at that tent for what seemed an eternity, and as she did, the traitorous thing began twitching. I was sure any minute it would explode and give me another mess to clean up.

Finally, she smiled and looked back up at me. "Ben," she said softly. "Would you like to go into my bathroom and take care of this?" And as she said "this," she tapped on the top of the tent, sending an electric wave of such intense pleasure shooting through me that I was certain there would be more messy shooting going on soon if I didn't take her up on her offer. "Yes," I said, and I quickly stepped through the bathroom door, closed it behind me and locked it.

Natalie had some Kleenex on the back of the toilet, so I grabbed three out of the box and dropped my pants, and I think it took about 3 seconds to start filling them up. But as quickly as I began relieving myself of that intense need, I began building a burden of embarrassment that was even bigger. I quickly turned and sat down on the toilet, not just because my legs had suddenly become Jell-O but equally because my spirit was figuratively going there anyway as the realization of what had just happened became increasingly, well, real. It wasn't as if I had never done that before, but no one had ever, ever known for sure that I had ever done it, let alone that I had done it just now. And now, right outside that door, Natalie knew. The one person in the world whose respect I wanted as much or more than my parents' knew without a doubt that I had just jerked off in her bathroom. I sat there for a few minutes, vacantly cleaning up the last of the evidence of my transgression and dropping into the toilet. I think I really wanted to cry, but I was big enough to know that wouldn't help. Finally, I stood up, pulled my pants back up and flushed the toilet. But then I just sat back down and slumped with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. I didn't know how I could go back out that door and face Natalie again. It didn't seem to matter that she had offered the use of her bathroom and, since she had done that, probably wasn't offended by what I'd done there. I mean, this was Natalie. This was my dear friend Natalie, whom I really, really loved and respected. I was certain I had deeply dishonored her with my runaway lust.