Chapter 2

I came out of the bathroom, with a little bit of the tension in my crotch relieved, to find her sleeping on the couch, leaning against one of the arms and cuddling a pillow. I picked her up and took her to the back bedroom, laying her in bed and tucking her in.

She said, "G'nite" rather sleepily as she rolled away from me and buried her head in the softness, wiggling her small frame to get comfortable.

I sat on the edge of the bed for a few moments, listening to her steady breathing. After I was sure she was asleep, I walked through the house, turning off lights as I went, pausing only to get my brandy bottle from the cupboard in the kitchen. I drank a quick swallow to get the fire in my belly burning, then sat on the couch with the second glass, sipping and staring out the window. Night had fallen, some stars were visible, and I relived the moments of ecstasy that Emma, my childhood lover, and I had shared so long ago. With my robe opened and my legs spread wide, I imagined my fingers were her mouth, sucking me in and pulling gently, waiting for my pleasure to build. I took my time, savoring the feelings I caused, exploding at the end with audible grunts, shivering with complete release at last.

I wiped myself with the hem of the robe, intending to wash it tomorrow along with almost everything she owned, and headed for my bedroom. I put on an old soft nightgown that reached my knees and crawled into bed, curling onto my side. Sleep came quickly, the fire between my legs reduced to an ember and a pleasant tingle. The dreams came as they always did when I'd been aroused, populating my head with images of Emma and me at age twelve. We'd had nubbins for breasts, a few soft, fine hairs around our slits and a determination to explore and satisfy the other in any way we could. I thought myself in love with Emma as all do at that age, willing to give anything to have it returned.

I woke up as someone touched my shoulder in my dream. As I came fully awake, I realized it was real.

Morgan repeated, "Mac, Mac, wake up! Please!"

I started and opened my eyes, staring at her and replying, "I'm awake. What's wrong, Hon?"

"I'm scared," she said, hugging her pillow.

I could hear the distant rumbles of thunder outside and figured they were the cause of her fright. I drew back the covers and invited her in, cuddling up to her back. The cast scratched my foot and she moved it away, pushing her butt against my stomach. She grabbed my hand and placed it on her tummy, sighing quietly in comfort as she fell asleep again. I followed a few minutes later, and was dreamless the rest of the night.

When morning came I was alone; the only sign of her presence in my bed was her pillow. I peed and brushed my teeth, dressing in old jeans and a shirt for my day off. I found her in the kitchen drinking coffee; the washer was running in the utility room.

She smiled hesitantly at me and said, "Good morning," and filled a cup for me.

"Good morning to you, too. How do you feel?" I asked, sipping from my cup.

"Okay, I guess," she said. "Just a little sore."

"Too sore to take a little ride with me?" I smiled.

"Could we? I've never been on a horse!" she exclaimed, her eyes brightening with the prospect of something new and daring.

"After breakfast, you go get dressed," I said, "and we'll see what we can do."

While we ate, she was lost in thought and didn't say much. I did catch her staring at me a couple times, and she'd flush and turn her eyes. When she finished, she asked quietly to be excused and went to her room.

She returned to the kitchen a few minutes later, dressed in shorts and a top, her one sneaker neatly tied. I put on my boots and gave her a piggyback ride to the barn, standing her near the stalls while I got out the tack. Molly wouldn't stand still for the saddle; she knew what was coming and was anxious to run. I put the bit in her mouth and gave Morgan the reins, telling her to hold tight. I finished Molly and saddled Abby with no problem, plucked a couple of apples from the bin and walked them outside. I showed her how to feed them, her hand flat to avoid their teeth, listening to her giggling all the while as Molly nuzzled her hand for more. I helped Morgan climb the rail and slide onto Abby's back, holding the reins as she did.

We started out of the gate at a slow walk, and Molly started prancing a little with her freedom.

"I'll be right back," I said, and gave Molly her head, aiming her down the road.

She took off at a gallop, almost unseating me, and I held on for the minutes it took for her to lose her wind and slow to an easy canter. Turning her in a wide loop, I returned to Morgan and Abby plodding slowly down the road.

As I pulled back beside her I asked, "How does it feel?"

"She's so big!" she exclaimed, the wonder showing in her eyes.

"Almost a thousand pounds," I said. "She's gentle though."

We rode for a couple hours, spotting debris from the tornado in the fields wherever we turned. I didn't investigate any of the clumps of cloth or shreds of houses, afraid of what we might find. When we returned to the house Charlie was there, grim looking and quiet. He waited while I unsaddled and put the horses away, then pulled me to the side, out of Morgan's hearing.

"I think we found her grandmother," he said.

"Where?" I asked, concerned that her body might be badly damaged.

"In Simpson's tree row, about three-quarters of a mile from her trailer," he replied.

"Her face isn't marked," he added, answering my unspoken question.

I nodded and went to Morgan, taking her into the house with Charlie and getting them something to drink.

She took the news well, sniffling a little and crying softly as Charlie confirmed her expectations.

"You'll have to come and identify her," Charlie said softly.

I knew it was the part of his job he hated most. We got dressed in jeans and shirts and I had to cut the seam of a new pair of her jeans to widen it enough for her cast. She rode with me in the Jeep, huddled against the seat and whimpering all the way. Once inside the locker I stood behind her, grasping her shoulders and telling her to be brave.

Charlie moved the shroud from the upper part of the body and Morgan screamed, "That's her! Oh my God!"

Morgan spun to avoid seeing any more and buried her head between my breasts, sobbing and shaking with her grief. I comforted her as best I could, my tears flowing as I patted her back.

An hour later in the Sheriff's office, she was cried out and sipping at a coke when she asked, "Now what?"

"For the time being you can stay where you are; it'll take the county some time to find your relatives," Charlie said.

.

"I don't have any more," she said, bursting into a new fit of tears. "Gram was all I had."

Charlie looked at me expectantly and said, "Well then, Mac can keep you until they find a better place. Would that be all right?"

I nodded yes, thinking I should have said no. I knew I could only trust myself so far, and having her near me was a definite temptation.

Burial arrangements were made and we left, driving the eleven miles to the house quietly. She slumped on the couch, defeated and alone. I made coffee and got her a soft drink.

Everyone has a different grieving process, and for those of you who haven't been through it, it is a process, not an event. I also knew that having her talk it out and tell someone what had happened would help her begin the long and often painful journey towards acceptance and recovery.

I held her shoulder and said, "Tell me what you remember."

In fits and starts with a lot of tears, she let it out.

"Gram saw it was dark and called me inside. Then the lights went out and we could hear a loud whooshing noise, like the wind was picking up something awful. The house rocked a little bit, and Gram made me get into the back closet and told me she'd be right back."

Covering her ears and lowering her head, she continued, "I kept hearing howling and things banging off the side of the house, and a terrible noise from outside — like a truck was driving through or something — and then the house went sideways and I fell over. I started getting wet, and I screamed over and over for Gram, but she never came."

"How did you get out?" I asked.

"A Fireman came and lifted some junk off me, then he left to help somebody else. I didn't know what else to do, so I started trying to walk into town."

I kissed the top of her head and said, "You did all you could, Honey. Sometimes things happen like that."

"It's not fair!" she bawled.

I held her tight and whispered, "Life is never fair, little one."

After her sobbing eased, I asked if she'd like another coke. She shook her head no and hobbled to the shower. I waited until she was done and started another load of her clothing.

Sleep for me that night was a long time coming. Visions of her touching herself or welcoming my kisses kept intruding on my serenity. Masturbating twice did nothing to lessen my torment.

I didn't know much about her besides her name and age, where she'd lived and almost died and where she went to school. Who were her friends? Where were her folks? What grade was she in?

And then there were the negative things I dreaded: the fear of being branded a pedophile, the fear of being put in jail for life, and the fear of hurting her. I think I faded into unconsciousness as the curtains lightened with the dawn.

I helped her dress the next day for the funeral, choosing the most somber of her dresses, a gray A-line that would have looked good on me at that age. I brushed her hair and put a little makeup on her, telling her she had to look good.

"Why? No one else will be there," she glumly retorted, lost in her thoughts.