Visiting the Neighbors

Mrs. Lafontaine's picnic in the green house idea must have been an attempt to comfort the girl and get her away from her father for awhile. Better to die than to live a life like hers.

Em – suddenly she wasn't Emily anymore, but someone else, someone I was falling madly in love with – had curled up in a little fetal ball, weeping brokenly, her face flushed with humiliation.

"Your father?"

"Yes," she said so softly even my sharp hearing could barely make it out.

"Does this kind of thing happen often?"

"Not often … well … more often since I…" She hesitated. "Since I started developing. He says I'm like my mother. He found me … I borrowed a pair of your jeans." Her voice came up just a little, almost a whisper now. "You weren't there – and a blouse. The crimson one with the…"

"Plunging neck line?" I supplied. It was my "fuck me" blouse. I only wore it for those special occasions. I could imagine her father's reaction to that combination! "And your hair was down?"

Em nodded. "Father caught me trying them on. I was looking at myself in front of the mirror. He didn't knock." Her voice was still soft but no longer a whisper. "He called me a harlot – like my mother."

Tears were starting in my own eyes as I got up and wedged the chair back under the doorknob, then came back to Em stroking her brow. "It's going to be all right, Em. I'll make it all better." And Hell be damned if I let him hurt her again! I released her blonde hair, stroking it. I kissed away her tears, pressed my lips to her forehead.

The warm humanness of her set me tingling.

Then I leaned over her tear-streaked face, stared into her eyes and willed the pain away. I looked deeper and deeper, drawing her awareness in until nothing existed but the depths of our eyes – the mirrors of our souls. I hadn't Mama's subtlety and skills. But I couldn't bear to let Em hurt and had to reach deeply to block off the pain.

Em heaved a trembling sigh and relaxed.

As I started to sit back, Em impulsively pulled me to her and kissed me on the mouth – her tongue sought mine in a long hungry plunge. Then I knew, for the first time in a long life, that I had met someone I couldn't continue without. And it frightened me. I knew that if I could not control myself, our love meant that Emily would die. Of course, I could bring her into the family. But that would make Mama so furious that I winced to think about it. And Mama was right sometimes: some people could handle it and others could not.

"I love you, Em." I whispered into her ear.

"I know. I love you too, Missy." Em smiled up at me with such adoration I wanted to cry.

I kissed her fingers and started up her hand to her wrist, but when I felt the pulsing of the vein in her wrist, I felt suddenly dizzy and ravenous. I released her hand, tears of longing and frustration in my eyes. I stood and turned away.

"Missy! Come back. I love you."

"You don't know what you're asking, Em. You don't know."

"Don't you love me?"

"More than anyone I've ever loved before."

"Then make love to me, Missy."

"Em, I can't. My ways are death."

"I don't understand."

"I don't want you to."

That night I visited the young woman at the gas station again, but I left feeling unsatisfied and strangely empty.

GODWAR CENTRAL

Visiting the Neighbors