Swinging for the Fences

Chapter 31

Our families began arriving on Thursday.

Wren’s father left his twenty-something mistress in Atlanta. Wren’s mother rode with him and left her own special friend behind as well. Wren struggled with how to react. She hated that her parents were divorced in all but name, but she understood that in some way they still loved each other. She also realized that they’d put her happiness ahead of their own. In the end, she decided to act like they were a normal family, for however long it would last.

By contrast, Christy’s family were about as normal as possible and extremely close. Harold, Anne, and Rich flew in together and then waited at the airport until Sabrina’s flight arrived, more than an hour later. She wasn’t even an official member of the family, yet they still treated her like one.

My own parents were somewhere in between the Carmichaels and Hilliards. And my father had the best of both worlds. He could sleep with women half his age, but he and my mother were still a married couple. She had her special friends as well, but they weren’t her main interests.

Trip’s family was closer to Christy’s on the normal scale. His stepmother and little brothers absolutely adored Wren, and she saw in them the kind of family she wanted to have with him.

All of us gathered on campus a couple of hours before the commencement ceremony on Friday. At least a thousand other families had had the same idea, and they crowded the usual places for pictures, like the Torchbearer statue and the tree-lined paths in Circle Park.

Christy and Wren posed in their caps and gowns with every combination of family and friends. Then we hiked up the Hill for more pictures in front of Ayres Hall. The weather was hot and muggy, but a breeze picked up and made life semi-bearable.

My father and Harold stood off to the side with Rich, and I decided to join them. They were talking about the Navy, comparing notes about squadrons and ships. Their careers overlapped a little, when they’d both been deployed to Vietnam, but not at all after that.

Rich and I didn’t have anything to add, so I tried to start a conversation with him.

“How come you didn’t become a pilot?” I asked.

“Not enough of a challenge.”

My eyebrows rose in surprise.

“You probably figured this out already, but I’m not like the others.”

“In what way?”

He looked at me sideways. “Are you trying to analyze me?”

“No, just curious.”

“Mmm.”

“So… you aren’t going to tell me?”

“You’re a smart guy. Besides, you dated a psych major. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“Ah. We’re still sparring.”

“I’m always sparring.”

“Train like you fight, fight like you train?”

He snorted a laugh.

I studied him for a moment and then said, “You know why I’m not dating the psych major anymore?”

“No, why?”

“Not enough of a challenge.”

“Ha! I’ll have to remember that.”

* * *

The UT commencement ceremony was longer and more self-important than Erin’s high school one. The speeches were about the same, but there were more of them, and four times more graduates. The whole thing concluded with a mercifully short ceremony where a group of men and women were commissioned as Second Lieutenants in the Army and Air Force.

Christy and Wren joined us afterward, and we went to dinner at Trip’s favorite steakhouse. We were such a large party that they’d reserved a small room for us. Christy and I sat at a long table with both our families. Our fathers bonded over whiskey and war stories, while our mothers did the same over wine and stories about Christy and me growing up. She and I slowly relaxed as our parents got along famously.

Then the waiters cleared the dinner plates and brought out the champagne. Wren’s father made a short speech and thanked everyone for coming. He finished with a toast, and we drank to the graduates. Harold stood next.

“I can’t compete with a professional,” he began, “so I’ll keep this short. Christy and Wren… As your parents, we’ll always think of you as our little girls. But on this day, and for every day after, we’re proud of the women you’ve become.”

“Hear, hear!” Wren’s father agreed.

Harold nodded graciously, raised his glass, and finished with a benediction, “May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, and the rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand. Sláinte.”

We echoed the toast and drank.

“Well done, dear,” Anne said when Harold sat. “That’s always been my favorite.”

We chatted about dinner and the graduation ceremony for a few minutes before Harold swirled the dregs of his whiskey and eyed me seriously.

“We’ll be toasting you in a couple of years.”

“That’s the plan.”

“You still have time, you know. To do a two-year ROTC program.”

“Oh, dear,” Anne muttered.

“Dad, you promised,” Christy said.

My mother surprised us all. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Harold’s eyes widened slightly.

“I lost a brother,” she said coolly, “and had too many friends who lost their husbands. I will not lose my son as well.”

“Amen to that,” Harold said diplomatically.

She didn’t back down.

“Mom,” I said into the silence, “he knows.”

“Knows what?”

“What it’s like to lose a son.”

Her expression went from angry to anguished. “Oh, God! I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I— Please forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive,” Harold said. “And you’re right, no one should have to go through that.” He touched his wife’s hand, and they shared a sad smile. “I shouldn’t’ve said anything,” he added to my mother. “It was my fault.”

“No, I’ve made a mess of things.”

“You had help. But it’s nothing that more whiskey won’t cure.”

“Amen to that,” my father muttered. He stared into his glass and then drained it.

Rich caught my eye. I thought he was going to say something barbed and mocking, but he nodded politely instead. And he was enough like Christy that I could read his expression.

She’s a good woman, your mother.

She is, I agreed silently.

“A real fighter,” he said aloud.

“Mmm.”

“At least you come by it honestly.”

* * *

The dinner eventually broke up, and we said our goodbyes to Trip and Wren and their families.

“Where are you staying?” Harold asked my father as we lingered in the parking lot.

“The Sheraton. You?”

“The same. Can I interest you in a nightcap?” He glanced at my mother. “We can talk about life after the military. Anne and I could use some advice.”

My mother knew a peace offering when she heard one. “I’d like that,” she said.

“Hey, Mom,” Erin spoke up, “d’you mind if I spend the night with Paul and Christy?”

Mom looked surprised, but Christy didn’t, and I wondered what they were up to.

“It feels kinda weird,” Erin added, “staying in a hotel room with my parents.”

“I have a spare bed in my room,” Sabrina offered. “You’re welcome to join me. We can talk more about Europe.”

Erin hedged, “Thanks, but…”

“We have a whole room she can use,” Christy said.

I cut in quickly, “Your studio? She can’t spend the night on the couch.”

“No, I was talking about my room. My old one, I mean.”

Anne sighed and leveled a silent accusation at me.

She’s your daughter, I replied with a look of my own. Then I said to Christy, “You mean she can spend the night with you, in your room.”

“No. I mean—”

“Oh, Christine,” Anne said, “stop digging. Just… stop.”

“You tried, son,” Harold said to me.

“What?” Christy said defensively. Then she thought about what she’d said. Her eyes went round with panic.

“Mmm hmm,” her mother said.

“Oh, crap,” Erin muttered. “Sorry,” she laughed. “I didn’t realize! I mean…”

“That’s enough,” Mom told her.

“Well, how was I s’posed to know?”

“I told you so,” Rich said to his father. “Want me to kill him? I might need help hiding the body, but—”

“No, son, but thank you.”

“Seriously,” Rich continued, “I don’t mind.”

“Richard,” his mother warned.

“Aw, c’mon, Mom! I never get to kill anyone. I’ll make it quick, I swear.”

“You’re worse than Daniel.”

“Now that’s just mean,” he said.

“But true. You know I’ve never enjoyed your macabre sense of humor.”

“Comes with the job, I’m afraid. Are you sure I can’t…?” He eyed me with a mixture of amusement and regret.

“Quite sure,” she said.

“Give it a rest, son,” his father told him. “You made your point. Now, what were we talking about?”

“Erin’s going to spend the night with Christine,” his wife said.

“Ah, right. Of course. And we’re going to have a nightcap with David and Beth.”

I blinked when I realized what Rich had done. Thanks, I told him with a look. For the diversion.

He sighed.

No, I mean it. I owe you.

Shit-for-brains. I didn’t do it for you. I did it for her.

* * *

Trip and Wren came home while Christy, Erin, and I were having our own nightcap in the living room.

“Mind if we join you?” he asked.

“We’re drinking ‘that Irish crap,’” Christy warned.

“Uh-oh,” he said. “I’m in trouble again, aren’t I?”

“Of course not,” she lied, saccharine-sweet. “What gave you that idea?”

He silently begged me for a lifeline.

“He knows,” I said to Christy, “and he’s sorry.”

“It’d be nice to hear him say it.”

He turned to Wren instead.

“Don’t look at me,” she laughed. “You’re the one who annoyed her.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” he told Christy. “I was probably drunk when I did… whatever, but that’s no excuse.” He snapped his fingers and suddenly remembered. “Irish crap. Right! It was the Jack Daniel’s.”

She nodded.

“Yeah, you’re right, I was a butthead.”

Her eyebrows twitched in surprise.

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Still friends?” he added.

“Yeah, okay.”

He smiled and said to Wren, “Fetch us a couple of glasses?”

She returned a few moments later, and he poured a splash of Jameson in each. He even made a show of enjoying it. We chatted for a few minutes, but they had to leave early in the morning to drive to Atlanta. So we said goodnight and sent them up to bed.

“What was that about?” Erin asked once they’d gone. “The Irish Jack Daniel’s thing.”

Christy sighed.

“It’s a long story,” I said.

“Well, duh,” Erin said. “Give me the short version.”

“Trip doesn’t respect Christy.”

“Doesn’t respect women,” she corrected.

Erin shrugged. “I’ve never had a problem with him.”

“That’s because you’ve slept with him.”

“Yeah? So? He’s pretty good. You should try it.”

“Christy isn’t like you,” I said.

“What’s that supposed to mean? That I’m a slut?”

“Erin, come on,” I said. “You know that isn’t what I meant.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” she said. “I guess I’m just a little sensitive. Mom and I had a big talk about my trip. She doesn’t want me to ‘go wild’ in Europe.” She rolled her eyes. “Like, she thinks I’m going to jump every guy I meet. I swear, Paul, she totally treats me different. I mean, can you imagine what she’d say if I had two boyfriends? She’d lose her mind. But nooo! She was proud of you.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘proud,’” I objected.

“I would. She talked like you were a stud for keeping two women happy.”

“Except that I didn’t. As a matter of fact, I didn’t keep either of them happy.”

“Still. She compares you to Dad all the time.”

“Okay, I’m not going to win this argument,” I said.

“Not unless you wanna admit that Mom has different standards where you and I are concerned.”

“Maybe she does.” I shrugged. “She’s from a different generation.”

“Yeah, and speaking of which…” She turned her attention to Christy, who blinked in surprise. Erin laughed. “You didn’t think you were gonna get off that easy, did you? What was that about? With your parents? Don’t they know you and Paul’re sleeping together?”

Christy winced. “Not exactly.”

“They know,” I explained, “in a technical sense, but they don’t like to think about it.”

Erin snorted. “Out of sight, out of mind? Like, I’m so sure.”

“Don’t ask me to explain,” Christy said. “It’s—”

“Very Catholic,” I said.

“—just the way we are.”

“Uh-huh,” Erin said heavily.

“We all have our crosses to bear,” I told her.

“Whatever.” Then she laughed and defused the tension. “Catholic… crosses to bear. Nice. You do have a way with words, brother dear.”

“What can I say? I’m a cunning linguist.”

Her eyes lit up playfully. “Ooh, now you’re talkin’.”

“Uh-uh,” I said hastily, “no way.”

“What’s the matter?” she teased. “I know you and Christy’ve talked about it. That’s why I wanted to spend the night.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

Erin started to argue, but Christy stopped her with a slight headshake.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she said instead. She glanced at the ceiling. “Not with other people in the house. But that doesn’t mean I can’t tease you.” She grinned. “I like seeing the look on your face when you think you’ll have to fend me off.”

“You’re a bad person, Erin.”

She feigned innocence. “Worse than Mom? But I thought you liked—”

“Look at the time,” I blurted.

“He’s right,” Christy said before Erin could continue teasing me. She finished her whiskey and handed me the empty glass. “Will you fix me a snack before you come up?”

“Sure. The usual?”

“Yes, please.” She leaned in for a kiss and then said to Erin, “Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”

* * *

Christy and I spent Saturday afternoon with our families. We started with a tour of the house and neighborhood. Then we walked down to campus to view Christy’s Kanagawa pieces. They were still on display in the A&A building and were scheduled to remain there for the summer.

Rich and Sabrina had never been to Knoxville, so we gave them a tour next. They rode with Christy, Erin, and me in the Land Cruiser, while our parents followed in Harold’s rented Town Car. We started with downtown, the Old City, and the World’s Fair site.

Then we drove down Kingston Pike and through a scenic old neighborhood called Sequoyah Hills. The main tree-lined boulevard had a path that was popular with walkers and runners of all kinds, from people out for a stroll to weekend joggers to serious marathon types. We finished our tour in Sequoyah Park and spent a couple of hours talking and enjoying ourselves along the banks of the Tennessee.

We ate dinner at a local barbecue restaurant called Calhoun’s, where we sat on the deck and enjoyed the breeze from the river. We talked about everyday things, until the conversation turned to football. I explained what Knoxville was like on game days.

“More than a hundred boats tie up here,” I said. “They call it the Vol Navy.”

“That many?” Rich said. He surveyed the dock with a professional eye.

“Probably more,” I said, “but that’s a good guess.”

“How many does the stadium hold?”

“Boats or people?”

“Funny, ha ha,” he deadpanned.

“Ninety thousand. People,” I added, which earned an eye-roll.

“Hold on, how many?” Harold said.

“Ninety thousand,” I repeated. “On game days, Neyland Stadium is the fifth largest city in the state.”

“It’s crazy around here during football season,” Christy said.

“That’s almost as many as the Rose Bowl,” Harold said to his son. “And it makes Memorial Stadium seem downright small.”

“You can say that again.”

I told them a few more stories about tailgating parties and the orange-wearing multitudes on game day. Then the conversation moved on to other things, and Anne gave Rich a slight nod.

“I’m gonna check out the bar,” he said to me. “Care to join me?”

Christy missed the whole exchange between her mother and brother, but she smiled at the suggestion.

“Sure,” I said, although every nerve in my body screamed danger.

“Relax,” Rich told me as we made our way inside. “I only wanna talk.”

“Why here?”

“This is where they keep the booze.” He leaned toward one of the bartenders and asked about Irish whiskey.

“Bushmills,” the man said.

“Protestant whiskey.” Rich surveyed the collection of bottles on the top shelf. “Johnnie Walker Blue. Neat. Times two, please.” He pointed at our table through the big plate glass windows. “You see that man, the one who looks like a politician? Put it on his tab.”

The bartender had seen us together, so he nodded, took down the bottle, and poured. Then he silently evaluated Harold’s importance and net worth. He added a healthy splash to each glass.

“Thanks,” Rich said. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass. Then he smirked. “He hates it when I do this to him.”

“What? Put expensive liquor on his tab.”

“Yeah.”

“Then why do it?”

“To annoy him. Why else?”

I chuckled. “You’re more like Danny than you want to admit.”

“I suppose.”

We sipped in silence. The scotch was smooth, on par with Wren’s XO cognac, and I began to relax. My adrenal glands stopped working overtime, and my pulse slowed to normal. Rich looked at me sideways a couple of times, but I never rose to the bait. He finally gave up.

“You’re a cool one, all right.”

“I figure you’ll get to the point when you’re ready.”

He nodded.

“As long as you don’t tell me to stop seeing Birdy.”

“No,” he said calmly. “It’s about her, though.”

“What about her?”

“Well, the comedian was supposed to have this duty, but he’s off being warlike for a change.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I still can’t believe Mom picked me, but I suppose it’s my penance. So, here we are.” He sipped his whisky as a way to organize his thoughts.

“Mom says you and Birdy are getting serious,” he said at last. “Holy matrimony serious.”

“Mmm. And why is that your business?”

“Oh, boy,” he chuckled. “You’re on a hair trigger, aren’t you?”

“Rich,” I said evenly, “I have two kinds of encounters with you—ones that scare me, and ones that ought to scare me if I weren’t so angry.”

He laughed for real at that. “That’s a good sign. But don’t worry, this is a third kind. I’m just here to pass on some friendly advice. No, belay that. I’m here as your future brother-in-law.”

My eyebrows hit the ceiling.

“I know, right?” he said with his own brand of disbelief. “So this is going to be a friendly conversation.”

“Okay,” I said slowly.

“You know my parents are a bit old-fashioned, right?”

“I’d begun to suspect.”

He grinned at the sarcasm. “Right. Well,” he continued, “my dad’ll expect you to ask his permission. To marry Birdy, I mean.”

“Seriously? That’s what this’s about?”

“Of course. If you’re going to do it, do it right. And that means you ask permission.”

“Why? So he can say no?”

“Do you really think we’d be having this conversation if he were going to do that? Maybe you aren’t so smart after all.” He finished his whisky and set the glass on the bar.

My adrenal glands decided that overtime was a pretty good idea after all.

“Anyway,” Rich continued, “I figure we’re going to be brothers-in-law, so we need to clear the air between us. You owe me one. You’d better make it count, though, ’cause this is the only chance you’ll get.” He squared his shoulders and stuck out his chin. “Take your best shot.”

So I did.

His reflexes were good but not good enough. He’d just started to duck when I caught him with a solid right hook. I put everything I had into it, all the power I could muster in legs and torso. I swung through him and connected hard.

His head snapped to the side and he staggered into the bar. He started to go down but caught himself. I expected him to come up fighting, so I dropped into a boxer’s stance.

“Jesus Christ!” He climbed to his feet and touched his face. He was bleeding from a cut under his left eye. “Damn, kid, I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

The bar had gone eerily quiet, and everyone was staring at us.

“C’mon, guys, knock it off,” the first bartender said. He was older, and I vaguely remembered that he had the look of someone who could handle himself in a fight. At the moment he was just a blur in my peripheral vision. “We’re all friends here,” he added.

“Call the cops?” the second bartender asked.

The older bartender left it up to Rich.

“No, it’s all right,” he said. “We’re family.”

“That explains it,” a bystander said. He passed the word to people behind him, who muttered and kept right on gawking.

Blood dripped from Rich’s cheek. He put his hand to his face again, and his fingers came away smeared with red. He gestured to the first bartender.

“Get me a towel with some ice.”

“Yeah, sure. Coming right up.”

I still hadn’t moved, and I realized how stupid I must have looked. I unclenched my fists, lowered my arms, and straightened my legs. The crowd around us realized we weren’t going to start a brawl after all. They slowly went back to their drinks and conversations. Then the manager appeared.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded angrily. He saw the blood. “Call the police,” he snapped to the waiter who’d summoned him.

“We don’t need the police,” Rich said reasonably. He pressed the ice-filled towel to his cheek and winced.

“Then you’d better explain,” the manager said.

Our families showed up at that point, drawn by the commotion.

“What in God’s name…?” Harold said.

“Richard! You’re bleeding.”

“Paul,” Christy gasped, “what did you do?”

“Relax, Birdy, everyone,” Rich said. “It was just a misunderstanding. Damn, kid,” he added with a chuckle, “that hurt like hell. You hit like a Mack truck.”

“Yeah, well, I think I broke my hand.”

“Serves you right.” He pulled the towel away and looked at the expanding circle of bright red blood. “I’m gonna need stitches.”

Harold smoothed things over with the manager, while Anne made a fuss over Rich. My own family closed ranks around me. Christy couldn’t decide whose side she was on, which was probably a good thing, since she was furious with both of us.

“Do you need to go to the emergency room?” Harold asked Rich after the manager finally calmed down.

“Yeah, I think so. Sorry.”

“Let me see,” his mother said.

He moved the blood-stained towel and bent to give her a closer look.

“Yes, he’ll need stitches,” she said. “And Paul thinks he broke his hand.”

“Boys will be boys,” Harold chuckled.

Anne cleared her throat.

“And should be ashamed of themselves! Well?” he demanded. “Are you?”

“Yes, sir,” we answered together.

“See?” he told his wife, who wasn’t buying it.

“Come on,” Rich said to me, “let’s go get patched up.”

“Is that it?” Christy wondered aloud. “They try to kill each other and now they’re best friends? Ugh! Men!”

Her mother sighed. “Get used to it, dear.”

* * *

We spent the next few hours in the emergency room. It was a relatively slow night, and the orderly put us in adjoining exam areas. Anne sat with Rich, while my mother did the same with me. Christy still couldn’t decide whose side she was on, so Anne solved the problem by opening the curtain between us. Christy sat in the middle, and the three of them expressed their annoyance with Rich and me by ignoring us completely and talking to each other.

The doctor saw me first. He examined my hand and ordered an X-ray. Then he moved to Rich, while I followed an orderly down to radiology. I returned to find Rich holding a sterile pad to his face and the women still talking.

Rich and I didn’t speak, but he was surprisingly relaxed. I thought he’d be angry or hostile or even sullen, but he acted like nothing had happened.

The doctor reappeared about twenty minutes later with the X-ray of my hand.

“A classic boxer’s fracture of the fifth metacarpal. It occurs when you hit a human face or other hard object,” he added unnecessarily. “I’ll write you a prescription for pain medication for a couple of days. Keep ice on it until the swelling subsides. Then elevate it above your heart. You’ll need to immobilize it with a splint for three weeks. Make an appointment to see your regular doctor after that.”

Christy and my mother both thanked him. Then my mom laughed and deferred to Christy, who seemed a bit embarrassed by the sudden attention. The doctor gave instructions to a young nurse, who unwrapped a splint and showed me how to wear it.

In the next cubicle, Rich was talking to a different doctor. She was a Black woman in her fifties, steady and sure. He didn’t even flinch as she disinfected his cut. Then she began laying out her suture tray.

“Family quarrel,” Rich told her. “The Capulets attacked the Montagues.”

The doctor glanced at me and my hand but didn’t say anything.

“The other way around,” my mom said.

Rich paused uncertainly.

His mother explained, “Juliet was a Capulet, dear. Besides, Tybalt started it.”

Rich frowned at the reference, but the trio of older women shared a grin.

“Yeah, whatever,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d have the stones to do it, Romeo.”

“What? Hit you?” I said. “Are you kidding?”

“That’s why I picked the bar! It was a public place.”

“Hold still,” the doctor told him.

“Hold still, aye.” He sighed. “I’m never gonna live this down when I get back to the team.”

“Oh?” Anne said sweetly, in the same mocking voice her daughter used.

Rich ignored her and said to me, “If anyone asks, there were four of you.”

“Why not six?” his mother said archly.

“Yeah, six is better. I took five out, but you managed a lucky hit.”

“Are you going to hold still or not?” the doctor said.

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

“All I need is two minutes without you talking,” she continued. “Do you think you can manage that?”

“Will do.”

“Thank you,” she said in exasperation.

“I was sucker-punched, by the way. In case you were wondering.”

She sat back and rested her forearms on the tray. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. The kid came out of nowhere.”

“I’m sure.”

“Hit me for no reason.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Well, he’s dating her. She’s my baby sis—”

“Richard!” Anne snapped. “Be quiet and let her work. I’m sorry,” she added to the doctor, “he chatters when he’s nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” Rich protested. “Only, I don’t like needles.”

“I’ll be gentle,” the doctor told him. “This won’t hurt a bit. Just relax—”

“You’re enjoying this,” he accused.

“Not particularly. I’d enjoy it more if you’d hold still and let me do my job.”

He steeled his nerves for the coming needlework, and the doctor finished quickly once he stopped talking.

“There,” she said in a soothing voice. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? Keep it dry for twenty-four hours—”

“Wash it with clean water after that,” he finished. “Use Vaseline to keep it moist. See a corpsman in three to five days to have the stitches removed. Yes, ma’am, I know.”

She stripped off her latex gloves and threw them in the trash. Then she glanced at me.

“Next time, act like adults,” she told the pair of us. “Big boys talk. They don’t hit.”

“They do in my line of work,” Rich said.

His mother cleared her throat.

“I’ll take it under advisement,” he said to the doctor. “Are we done here?”

She nodded.

“You feel like a drink?” he asked me.

“Only if you’re buyin’.”

“No, but my dad is.”

Anne sighed. “Men…”

“Can’t live with ’em…,” my mother added.

“Can’t shoot ’em,” the doctor finished.

“Amen to that,” Christy agreed.

* * *

Christy and I met our families for an early brunch on Sunday. Rich and I didn’t suddenly become best friends, but he treated me with a bit more respect than before. He had a nice shiner to remind him, although my hand throbbed painfully when my pain meds wore off.

“What’re you smiling about?” Rich asked after we finished eating.

“I was just thinking… your head’s harder than my hand.”

“In more ways than one,” his father said.

“Be nice, dear,” Anne told him. “We all know where he gets it.”

“Who, me?”

“Yes, you.” She smiled for real and said to my parents, “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

They exchanged pleasantries and then we all stood to say goodbye.

“We’ll see you tonight,” I told my parents. “Probably in time for dinner.” I hugged Anne and shook Harold’s hand. My vision swam as pain shot up my arm.

“Sorry,” he said. “I forgot.”

“I stuck it out there. So it’s my own fault. Anyway, we’ll see you on Saturday.” I grinned and added, “Probably in time for dinner.”

“Of course,” he chuckled. “Rich can bring the scotch. Johnnie Walker Blue, wasn’t it?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Rich lied with a perfectly straight face. He tossed his chin at me. “See you soon, kid. Remember what I told you.”

“By the way,” Harold said to him, “you never said what that was about. At the bar last night…?”

“I didn’t?” Rich said mildly. “Oh. I suppose you’re right.”

“You know I outrank you.”

“And I’ve been trained to withstand interrogation.”

“You see what I have to live with?” Anne said to my mom.

“Oh, I know. I have two of my own.”

“Be glad it’s only two,” Anne said. “The others are just as bad.”

“Hey! I’m not,” Christy said.

“No,” her mother agreed. “You’re my beautiful girl.”

“I have one of those too,” Mom said. She put her arm around Erin, who seemed flabbergasted.

Harold looked at his watch. “We need to finish packing,” he said to his wife. “Sabrina needs to be at the airport in two hours. Chop-chop.”

“Time for us to get a move on too,” my father agreed.

We said our final goodbyes, and Christy and I headed out to the car.

“I’m glad they all got along,” she said.

“Me too.”

“I wasn’t worried, but I sort of was.” She glanced up at me. “You and Rich seemed to be getting along better today.”

I nodded. “That’s how it is with guys. We fight and then we’re friends.”

“I’m glad I’m not a guy.”

“Me too.”

She looped her arm through mine and sighed.

“Good sigh or bad?” I asked.

“A little of both. I always hate saying goodbye to my family, but we’ll see them in a week.”

“What’s the good sigh for?”

“Do you really need to ask?” She smiled up at me. “I’m feeling very affectionate toward you right now.”

“That’s what I was hoping.”

“Oh?”

“Well, we have a few hours before we need to leave for Atlanta. And we have the house to ourselves…”

“What about your hand?”

“I’m sure we can find a few positions that work.”

“Only a few?” she teased.

* * *

We arrived in Atlanta to find that a small change of plans had caused a large change of mood. My dad had accepted a reverse seniority trip, which was basically forced overtime. He could have refused, but not if he wanted to stay in the good graces of almighty Crew Scheduling.

Dinner was a subdued affair. Mom started doing laundry immediately afterward. Dad retreated to the garage to work on the Karmann Ghia, his airport car. And Erin disappeared into her room with her Walkman. Christy and I were left to our own devices, so we went for a walk and then went to bed early for a change.

“I’ve got to get out of the ’27,” my dad muttered early the next morning as he prepared to leave. He draped his uniform coat over his arm and kissed my mom. “Tell Erin I’m sorry I missed her.”

“She understands.”

“Tell her to have fun and be safe.”

“I will.”

“I’ll call tonight when we get to Bloomington. Love you. Bye.” He kissed her again, waved at Christy and me, and hefted his suitcase and Jepps case. “Somebody oughta put wheels on these things,” he complained under his breath. “He’d make a million bucks.”

Erin shuffled into the kitchen about fifteen minutes later. “Did I miss Dad?”

“Sorry, honey,” Mom said. “He waited as long as he could.”

“That sucks,” Erin said. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“He thought you needed your sleep.”

“He did? Or you did?” She huffed. “Never mind. I need to pack.” The tension lingered even after she’d gone.

Mom let out a long, weary sigh.

“I thought you were getting along better,” I said.

“We were. But not lately. This trip…”

Christy and I shared a look.

“If you ever have daughters,” Mom told us, “just let them do whatever they want. It’ll save you a lot of heartache. They’ll probably grow up to be hippies, but at least they won’t blame you for it.” She massaged the bridge of her nose and sighed again. “I need to finish doing laundry, or she won’t have anything to pack.”

* * *

We drove Erin to the airport several hours later. Mom spent at least fifteen minutes giving her advice, until Erin finally lost it.

“Mom! Stop! I’m not a kid anymore. I’m eighteen.”

“I know, honey. I just—”

“I can take care of myself.”

“You’re right.”

“Listen, Mom,” Erin said reasonably, “I know you love me, but you have to let go sometime. I’ll be with Leah. We’ll watch out for each other. Besides, we’ll be with family.”

“Only for a week. I’m worried about—”

“Mom! We talked about this. We have a list of phone numbers. You know where we’re staying. We have emergency cash and credit cards. Jeez, we even have an emergency sewing kit!”

“Well,” my mom said defensively, “you never know when you’ll need to sew a button or fix a hem.”

Christy and I shared a grin.

“Mom, I’ll be fine. We’ll call when we get there, and we’ll write postcards—”

“Every day,” Mom insisted.

Erin sighed.

“Every other day?”

“Why’re you such a basket case about this?” Erin asked. “Paul did the same thing, and he was fine.”

“Paul isn’t a gir— young woman.”

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Erin said. “Paul’s a guy, so he can take care of himself. But I’m a girl, so I can’t?”

“She’ll be fine, Mom,” I told her. “If anything, she’s more responsible than I was. She’ll get into less trouble.”

“But… you didn’t get into trouble.”

I chuckled. “Not that you know about.”

“I’ll be fine,” Erin assured her. “You have to trust me sooner or later.”

“I know,” Mom said. “I just wish ‘sooner’ wasn’t now. I’m… not ready for this.”

Erin surprised me with her compassion.

“Mom,” she said patiently, “you raised me right. I’m a strong woman. I can think for myself, take care of myself. And I owe it all to you.”

“Thank you, honey. That means a lot.”

“We’ll call when we get to a new place. We’ll write postcards as often as we can, to you and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa, and everyone else. We’ll take pictures. We’ll have fun. We’ll watch out for each other. And we’ll be careful. We’ll be fine. I swear.”

Mom nodded and dug in her purse. She couldn’t find what she was looking for, so Erin opened her own purse and pulled out a tissue.

“Now do you believe me?” she said.

* * *

Mom was tired but relaxed at breakfast the next morning. Erin had called in the middle of the night to say that she and Leah had made it to London. Leah’s grandparents had met them at the airport, and they were fine.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for an empty nest,” Mom said as she nursed a cup of coffee.

“I don’t know if you have much choice,” I said. “Besides, this is how it’s supposed to work. You do your ‘job’ right and your kids move out.”

She thought of something and smiled. “The older I grow, the wiser my mother becomes.”

“Story of my life,” I said.

She smiled affectionately. Then the phone rang, and affection turned to alarm.

I rose to answer it. “Hello?”

“Paul? Oh, that’s right!” Susan said. “Your mom said you were coming home after Christy’s graduation. Tell her congratulations, by the way.”

“I will, thanks.”

“But what’s the news? Did Erin get there okay?”

“She did. She called early this morning.”

“How’s your mom handling it? She was fine when I talked to her last week, but I bet she was a nervous wreck yesterday.”

“That about sums it up,” I chuckled.

“You can’t wait for your children to move out, then you can’t stand it when they do. But listen to me,” she laughed, “nattering on. Is she awake yet? I think I have a way to distract her.”

“How? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, but I never realized how much Jeremiah did. I’m swamped and could use some help.”

“Sounds perfect,” I said. “I’ll let you talk to her.”

I passed the phone to Mom and watched her expression as Susan explained. She went from slightly adrift to eager and determined.

“Susan needs me,” she said when she hung up. “And if I hurry, I can leave in a couple of hours.”

* * *

“This is so weird,” Christy said when we went to bed that evening.

“What? Having the house to ourselves?”

“That too. But I meant sleeping together.”

“What! We do it all the time.”

“But that’s at home. It feels weird to do it here, in your parents’ house.”

“Why? We did it last night.”

“I know, but… I suppose it feels like we’re getting away with something.”

“We aren’t. Trust me.”

“You’re right. As usual. But… can you imagine sleeping together in my parents’ house?”

“We’ve done it before. As a matter of fact, you lost your virginity there.”

“I did not!”

“Your virginity with me.”

“That doesn’t count,” she said with impeccable Christy-logic. “We were sleeping together in my head long before we did it for real.”

“Did you enjoy it?” I teased.

“Of course. I won all the arguments, too.”

“Oh, for sure!” I laughed.

“I did,” she insisted. “And you were never mean to me.”

“Anything else?”

“Uh-huh. We could have sex all the time, whenever we wanted.”

“We can do that now, especially since we’re the only ones here.”

“That’s true,” she admitted. “And we have a hot tub.”

“You didn’t have one in your head?”

“I did. I do. But it isn’t the same.”

“Do we need to go back out?”

“No, I don’t think so. The hot tub’s nice, but… I’ve been thinking.”

“About?”

“A pool.”

“Sorry we don’t have one.”

“Wren does.”

“Ah, so that’s what this is really about,” I said.

“Are you upset?”

“About what? That you want to see Wren? Of course not. She’s your girlfriend.”

“I miss her. I know we just saw her, but you know what I mean. I miss… spending time with her. Don’t get me wrong,” she added quickly, “I love spending time with you, but it isn’t the same. I didn’t want to ask, but…” She shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since our plans changed.”

“Do you want to call her tomorrow?”

“Yes, please.” She reached for my penis. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“You don’t need to bribe me to spend time with your girlfriend.”

“Then it isn’t a bribe. It’s… a reward!”

I chuckled. “You just want to suck my dick.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing.” I stretched languidly and pushed the covers down. “Absolutely nothing.”

* * *

“God, I’m glad you’re here,” Wren said the next day. She invited us into the house.

“Why? What’s the matter?”

“I’m bored to death. Have you watched daytime TV lately? Big money, no whammies. Come on down, you’re the next contestant. It’s garbage. The soaps are worse.”

“You’re supposed to be relaxing,” I chuckled.

“I know, but my brain’s turning to mush. Come on back.” She glanced over her shoulder and continued, “Worse, my butt’s already turned to cottage cheese. We need to start doing aerobics again,” she added to Christy.

Wren opened the door to the back yard and went out. The transition from dark house to bright sunlight felt like a physical blow, and I sneezed reflexively.

“Bless you,” Wren said without stopping. She stripped off her T-shirt and tossed it on a chair. She wasn’t wearing a bikini top. “Hold on,” she said all of a sudden, “what happened to your hand?”

“Payback.”

Her eyebrows rose with an amused question.

“Rich. Christy’s brother. You remember the black eye he gave me? Last Thanksgiving?”

“Oh, yeah!”

“Well, this was payback. His face was harder than my hand, but he had to have stitches.”

She rolled her eyes. “Men.”

“That’s what I said,” Christy agreed.

“Anyway,” I said to Wren, “we were talking about you. You want to start doing aerobics again,” I prompted.

“What? Oh, yeah.” She looked down at her stomach and breasts. “I’ve been doing laps in the morning, but I’m so out of shape. I started a diet, too. I gained almost ten pounds! I had to buy a new swimsuit!”

“You look fine,” I said.

“Well, my tits’re bigger. Trip likes that. But I don’t feel fine. I feel like Miss Piggy.”

Christy snorted a laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Wren said.

“Nothing. Only, I was thinking of Trip as Kermit the Frog.”

“God, no,” Wren laughed. “My dad always told me to stay away from green weenies.”

“Good advice.”

“Y’all wanna go for a swim?” she offered.

“Sure.” I gestured back toward the house. “Do we need to wear suits?”

“No. My mom’s out with Lydia. They’re playing golf, if you can believe it.”

I pulled off my polo and then sat to untie my shoes. Wren skimmed off her bikini bottoms. She had faint tan lines from wearing them for several days.

“What’s wrong with golf?” Christy said. “My dad plays.” She unbuttoned her shorts and slid them down her legs. “Speaking of which,” she added to me, “you should probably learn.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

She rolled her eyes and dropped her shirt on top of her shorts. “I’m serious. A lot of decisions are made on the golf course.”

All of a sudden Wren sighed.

Christy and I stopped and looked at her.

“What?” I said for both of us.

“I’ve missed this.”

“Missed what?”

“Just talking.” She shrugged. “Any conversation that doesn’t involve ‘broadcast news operations’ or ‘targeted mass media advertising.’ God! I don’t miss school. Trip was trying to convince me to get an MBA, but he dropped that idea pretty quick.” She thought of something and laughed softly, almost to herself. “That was before I started my honors thesis. It seems like ten years ago. Has it really only been six months?”

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” I said facetiously.

“Fun, yeah,” she mused. “What’s that?”

“It’s a strange thing people do when they aren’t working all the time,” Christy said.

I felt a sense of déjà vu. “Hold on, didn’t I—?”

“Yes, you said it first.” She unfastened her bra and tossed it on the growing pile.

“It sounded like something I’d say. But… when?”

“Wren and I were getting ready. For my birthday party.” She took off her panties, flung them on the chair, and compared her pile of clothes to my own neatly folded stack.

Fine, be that way, she told me with a look. Mr. Organized.

I will, Miss Chaos.

You know you love me.

I do, I agreed, and she smiled.

Wren yanked us back to the spoken world.

“After I burned the duck!” She laughed. “God, what a disaster. But yeah, it was a fun night after all.”

“It was,” I agreed.

“That was the last time we were together,” Wren added. She looked at us and smiled suggestively. “I don’t know about you all, but I’m ready to get reacquainted.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Christy said. “But… you can’t catch me!”

Wren shrieked and ran after her.

They streaked around the pool and then came racing back. Christy darted behind me and used me as a shield. She feinted left, right, and then left again. Wren moved to block her, but Christy was too quick. She screamed and ran left. She rounded the corner of the pool, scampered over the diving board, and then plunged into the water.

Wren used the diving board to get a running start. She arced into a graceful dive, but Christy was too far ahead. She ran up the stairs and hid behind me. Wren didn’t bother to climb out of the pool. She stood in the shallow end, breathing hard and looking disgusted with herself.

“I told you,” she panted, “I’m out of shape.”

Christy came out from behind me. “It’s okay, we still love you.”

“I’m glad somebody does.”

“Oh, honey, don’t say that.”

Wren grinned reluctantly. “You still sound like an imposter. When you say that.”

“When I say what?” Christy walked down the stairs and waded toward Wren.

“‘Honey.’ You sound like an imposter.”

“I can’t help it,” Christy said. “I’ve been around Paul’s family all weekend.”

“That’s okay. I think it’s cute.” She glanced at me. “Are you going to join us?”

“I would, but…” I waved my splinted right hand.

“You don’t have to swim. Just sit on the side, by the stairs.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I’ll just watch.”

“Nonsense,” Wren said. “You know Christy isn’t happy unless she has a dick to suck.”

“It’s true,” Christy herself agreed.

“And… I was kinda hoping you’d screw my brains out.”

I pursed my lips and did a horrible job trying to suppress a grin.

“Seriously?” Wren said. “Whatever. Go ahead and say it. You aren’t gonna be happy till you do.”

“Happy till he says what?” Christy asked.

“He knows.”

“Your wish is my command.” I walked into the water and sat on the sun-warmed side of the pool.

“See?” Wren said.

Christy frowned. “Hold on…”

“Long story,” I said. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Only, you said that before,” she accused.

“Said what?”

“That you’ll tell me later. But you didn’t.”

“When?”

“In the cabin. In Squaw Valley. I was sucking your finger. I said I needed something bigger.”

I drew a blank.

“Don’t look at me,” Wren said. “I don’t remember either. Her memory’s crazy.”

“It’s not crazy,” Christy muttered. “I just remember things.”

“Of course you do,” Wren said quickly. “And that’s what we love about you. You know what else we love?”

“What?”

“Your libido’s crazy too.”

“It’s not crazy. Why does everyone say that? It’s just high.”

“Thank God for that.” Wren kissed her, and Christy gradually relaxed. She didn’t resist when Wren guided her to the side of the pool near me. Christy hopped up and spread her legs. Wren began kissing her thighs and inching toward her pussy.

I watched for a couple of minutes and stroked my cock with my left hand. Then I waded down the steps. I held my right hand at shoulder height and felt like an idiot, but the girls were too preoccupied to notice. Wren reached between her legs and guided my erection to her pussy.

“Oh, God,” she groaned as I slid into her, “this is exactly what I needed.”

I steadied her hips with my left hand and began thrusting. Christy leaned back, closed her eyes, and ran her fingers through Wren’s damp hair. We continued like that for several minutes, until the pressure started to build in my balls. I held off as long as I could, but Wren’s pussy felt too good.

“Sorry,” I grunted at last, “I’m gonna come. Where—?”

“My tits.”

I mounted the steps, and Wren sank to her knees in front of me. I tried to jerk off with my left hand, but she batted it away and gripped my shaft with both of hers. She started stroking. Then she added a little twist at the end, which sent me over the edge.

I groaned and shot what felt like a gallon of come on her chest. Christy slid into the water and sat on the step beside us. She waited until I stopped shooting before she sucked the final gush from the tip of my shaft. Then she turned and kissed Wren.

They made out for several moments before Christy shifted her attention to Wren’s come-spattered breasts. She licked up my semen and lingered over Wren’s nipples. Then she gently urged her to move to the side of the pool. Wren spread her legs and closed her eyes as Christy began licking.

I probably could’ve gotten hard again, but I decided to watch instead. After several minutes Wren’s breathing grew heavy. She moistened her lips and began rocking her hips as her climax approached. Christy slid two fingers into her and concentrated on her clit. Wren arched her back, cried out once, and then went silent as the orgasm rocked her.

After several heartbeats she relaxed and started breathing again. Christy rested her cheek on Wren’s thigh. Then she sighed heavily and closed her eyes.

“Oh, my love,” Wren said, “what would I do without you?”

* * *

Wren made a big salad and little cucumber sandwiches for lunch. Christy loaded her plate with salad and avoided the sandwiches altogether.

“What’s the matter?” Wren said.

“I… um… don’t like cucumber. Sorry. I can’t explain it,” she fibbed. “It’s the seeds. Or the crunch. Or something. Only, I don’t like them. The salad looks yummy, though.”

“No, hold on,” Wren said. She thought for a moment. “I know. I’ll be right back. Go ahead and start on the salad.”

“I’m fine,” Christy protested.

“Two minutes,” Wren insisted. “Go ahead, eat.”

“Thanks,” I said to Christy once she’d gone. “I’m not a fan of cucumbers either.”

“What? And you let me take the blame?”

“You bet I did. Wren only tolerates me. She loves you.”

“She loves you too.”

“I know. But it isn’t the same.”

“You’re right. The salad’s yummy, though. Walnuts and strawberries, mmm!”

Wren returned a couple of minutes later and set a rectangular plate in front of Christy.

“Buffalo mozzarella, tomatoes, and fresh basil.”

“Oh my gosh, it’s beautiful. What’s the dressing?”

“Balsamic vinegar, olive oil, salt, and pepper.”

“Yum!”

Wren glanced at me. “What’re you smiling at?”

“You. How you take a couple of simple ingredients and make something wonderful.”

“It isn’t difficult.”

“Then why doesn’t everyone do it?”

“I don’t know.” She slid into her chair and draped her napkin over her lap. She was halfway through her first little sandwich before she realized that I’d only taken a token bite. “Not you too.”

“Sorry. It’s the taste for me.” I shrugged. “I just don’t like cucumbers.”

She huffed. “Well, I’m not making you anything else.”

“That’s okay, I’ll steal some of Christy’s.”

“No! Mine! Get your own!” She brandished her fork.

“Feisty little thing,” I laughed to Wren.

“Stubborn, too.”

“Fine,” Christy sniffed, “gang up on me.”

“I thought you liked a gang,” Wren said. She was teasing, but her tone carried a hint of annoyance.

Christy heard it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I thought you liked guys.”

“I do.”

“Yeah, Paul. But what’s going on with Trip?”

“Nothing.”

“Exactly,” Wren said.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Christy lied.

“Look,” Wren said, “I don’t wanna start an argument, but something’s up with you and Trip. At first I thought he was just being overly sensitive. You know, the male ego. They’re fragile.” She dared me to object.

“No argument from me,” I said mildly.

“And then I thought it was just him being pushy,” Wren continued. “Yeah, he can be a jerk sometimes, but he doesn’t do it on purpose. Not like some guys I’ve known.”

I raised a questioning eyebrow.

“No, not you. You’re one of the good ones. As a matter of fact,” she added, “none of this is about you.”

“Except that it is,” I said, again mildly.

“Yeah, okay, it’s about you too. But it’s mostly about her. I wanna know what she has against Trip.”

“Nothing!”

“Then why do you keep avoiding him?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Christy lied again.

“I thought you wanted to be a swinger.”

“I do!”

“Then what’s the problem?”

I knew the answer, even if Christy didn’t want to say it aloud. She silently begged me anyway, and Wren misread her look.

“Hold on, is this about Paul?” She accused me with a glare. “You don’t want her to sleep with other guys?”

Christy sagged with relief, but Wren knew her too well. She could also read the truth in my expression.

“No,” she said to Christy, “this is about you, isn’t it? It isn’t Paul at all. What? Trip isn’t good enough for you? Is that it?”

“No, Wren, I—”

“He doesn’t meet your lofty standards?”

“Of course he does. Only—”

“Then what’s the problem? Why do you keep avoiding him?”

The words hung in the air, and Christy turned mulish. She glared at Wren for a moment before she turned her displeasure on me. I let it wash over me like a gentle breeze, which annoyed her even more.

“Remember what I told you,” I said at last. “I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do. Neither will Wren. But you have to tell her.”

“Please, I can’t.”

“You have to. If you don’t, she’s going to draw her own conclusions. And they probably won’t be very nice.”

Wren agreed with pursed lips and expectant eyebrows.

“Fine!” Christy said. “I don’t want to sleep with him. There, I said it! Are you happy?”

Wren’s expression turned stony.

“What? I don’t want to. And you can’t make me.”

“Oh, boy,” I said under my breath. “Let me try. Wren, when she says ‘sleep with,’ she really means ‘have sex with.’ Blowjobs are fine.”

Christy nodded.

“I know it’s crazy,” I added, “but she doesn’t think they’re sex.”

“Of course they are!” Wren said. “Why d’you think they call it oral sex? Hello?”

“Yeah, but that’s normal people. Christy isn’t normal.”

“Hey! I’m not a freak.”

“No, you aren’t. But… you have a different way of looking at things.”

“So? What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing… if it’s a painting or a sunset. But when it’s another person? Or sex?”

“I still don’t understand,” Wren said.

“I don’t wanna have sex with Trip,” Christy said. “It isn’t personal, though.”

“Then what is it?” Wren snapped.

“No, you don’t understand. I don’t wanna have sex with any guy. Not sex-sex, penis in vagina.”

“So… then… what?” Wren said. “You don’t wanna be a swinger?”

“I do,” she insisted. “Only, not like that.”

“I still don’t get it.”

“You tell her,” Christy demanded in a fit of pique. “I’m not making sense.”

“Sex is a spiritual thing for her,” I told Wren, as Christy nodded emphatically. “Yeah, it’s physical and emotional too, but she’s Catholic. She believes in ‘holy matrimony.’”

“So do I,” Wren said irritably. “What’s that have to do with this?”

I glanced at Christy and decided to admit something I’d kept to myself until then. “I’ve… um… been reading about Catholic marriage.”

Her eyebrows flew up.

“It’s a sacrament to them,” I plowed ahead. “Like baptism and confirmation. They only have seven, so marriage is a big deal. Sex is part of it.”

Wren snorted but didn’t say anything.

“Maybe not to you and me,” I said as reasonably as I could, “but it is to Christy. I think that’s why she doesn’t think of oral sex as sex. Or even sex with other women. In her mind, she can have sex with her husband—well, her future husband—but not anyone else. So the other things aren’t sex. Not as far as she’s concerned.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Christy said under her breath.

“Hey,” I said waspishly, “do you wanna explain this?”

“No.”

“All right. Then quit being huffy. It’s taken me almost a year to figure this out. Wren doesn’t wanna wait that long.”

“So… what’re you saying?” Wren asked. “She’ll have sex with you and me, and any other woman, but not Trip? And not any other guy?”

“Technically, yes. But not in reality. It’s a problem of semantics. Blowjobs aren’t sex.”

“Of course they are! Oh, wait… I get it. Not the way she sees things. You mean she’ll blow him, but her pussy’s off-limits?”

“More or less.”

“Well, I don’t want her to sully herself or break any sacred vows.”

“Wren, please,” Christy begged. “Do you think I want to be like this? My life’d be so much easier if I’d just spread my legs for anyone. But I can’t! I want to, but… I can’t.”

Wren sat back, and the fight went out of her. “Yeah, I know. I guess I’ve known all along. I should’ve figured it out when you wouldn’t have sex with Paul. I pushed and pushed and pushed, but you wouldn’t budge.”

“And… I don’t think she realizes this herself,” I added with a sideways glance, “but she wouldn’t sleep with me until we started talking marriage.”

“That isn’t true!” Christy objected.

“Yeah, it is,” I told her calmly. “Think about it.”

She did her best scowl, but I stood my ground.

Wren thought back and nodded slowly. “Yeah, you’re right. She was the same with Simon. What a loser.” She rolled her eyes but continued, “She wouldn’t go all the way until he proposed. I thought she was crazy, but I guess she was horny—”

“I was not!”

“—so she used it as an excuse.”

“Probably,” I agreed.

“Hello?” Christy said peevishly. She waved to get our attention. “Right here.”

Wren and I ignored her.

“We used to talk about guys all the time,” Wren continued. “What we wanted to do with them. She wanted to blow ’em all. Like, for real. This cute guy on the swim team, a guy we knew from Astronomy class, you. It didn’t matter. She was goofy about it. But you’re right, she never talked about going all the way.”

Christy glowered. “Still here.”

“Oh, sweetheart!” Wren laughed. “We know. You’re hard to miss, especially when you’re trying to look hurt.”

“I am not trying to look hurt.”

“Then what would you call it?” Wren laughed again. “At least I understand now.”

“Took you long enough,” Christy grumbled.

“Be nice,” I told her. “She isn’t Catholic and doesn’t think like you.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Wren.”

“It’s all right, my love. But what am I supposed to tell Trip? He thinks you don’t like him.”

“I like him fine. When he isn’t being a jerk.”

“What do you expect?” Wren said frostily. “You give him the cold shoulder and treat him like he’s radioactive or something. I’m mixing my metaphors, but you know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Christy admitted. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. Only, he acts like I should swoon or something.”

“Well, you should,” Wren told her. “He’s a great guy. He isn’t all touchy-feely like Paul, but he still has feelings. And you hurt them.”

“I know. And I’m sorry. But… what am I supposed to do? I can’t have sex with him, but I don’t want to tease him. He… doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d be happy with just a blowjob.”

“I think you’d be surprised,” Wren said. Then she thought of something and said to me, “You remember my friend Colleen?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, a little too quickly.

“Oh?” Christy wondered aloud.

“She was very… um… memorable.” I pictured her gravity-defying breasts but decided to keep that description to myself. “And very open-minded.”

“Of course,” Christy said sweetly. “I’m sure you were just imagining her, ahem, ‘open mind.’”

“Guilty as charged.”

“She’s really sweet,” Wren said to Christy. “One of my friends from high school. I tried to set her up with Paul, but…” She shrugged. “Anyway, that isn’t the point. She spent the night with Trip and me a couple of times last summer. She only blew him, but he never complained.”

Because he wasn’t stupid. No guy in his right mind would’ve complained, but I knew better than to mention it.

“Oh, okay,” Christy said.

“At least now I know what the problem is,” Wren continued. “So I can figure out how to fix it. Are you sure you don’t want to—?”

“I’m sure. Sorry.”

“Yeah, that’s okay. I thought I’d ask.”

“Hold on,” I laughed. “You never gave up that easily when I said no.”

“That’s because you’re a man. Men don’t know what they want until we tell them.”

“Excuse me?”

“Christy knows what I’m talking about.”

“Oh, she does, does she?”

“Of course. She told you, didn’t she?”

Christy herself took a sudden interest in her napkin.

“Yeah!” I laughed. “I believe she did.”

* * *

“Are you upset?” Christy asked later that evening.

I climbed into bed and slid an arm around her. “About what?”

“That I don’t want to have sex with other men? Even if that means I can’t be a swinger?”

“Not really. Besides, you and I get to decide what ‘being a swinger’ means.”

She relaxed with a sigh, and I realized she’d been holding her breath.

“What would you have done if I had been upset?” I asked.

“I… don’t know.”

“Would you have tried to have sex with another man?”

“I’ve thought about it. And I really wanted to, but… no, probably not. I’m sorry.” She raised her head and looked at me. “I’ll do just about anything else to make you happy, but… not that. I can’t. And I can’t explain it, which is really annoying.”

I chuckled.

“I’m glad one of us thinks this is funny.”

“No, I’m laughing because you hate when you can’t do something.”

“Especially when it’s all in my stupid head. I don’t think you understand what it’s like, how I was raised,” she complained.

“What? To be from a family of overachievers who expect you to do anything you set your mind to?”

“Exactly.”

“You think my family didn’t set high expectations for me?”

“Not like mine do,” she said.

I chose not to argue.

“Thank you,” she said, as if my silence were agreement. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

“Is there any other way to see it?” I teased.

“I know what you’re doing, and it isn’t going to work.”

“Mmm.”

“Sometimes I don’t like you very much.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Ugh!” She fell silent and pretended to sulk.

I gave her a minute and then returned to the original subject.

“No, I’m not upset. So what? You don’t want to be a swinger. Not like my parents, at least. We’ll figure it out.”

“Thank you. Only, I sort of do,” she said. “Want to be like your parents. Well, your mother. Do you remember telling me about what she did? With other guys at camp, I mean. And couples who thought they wanted to try swinging.”

“What? She sucked them off?”

“Exactly.” Christy sat up, and her pale blue eyes glowed with the fire of enthusiasm. “I could be the first test or something. You know how I get, especially when I’m giving head. And if the woman’s okay to watch that, then she’d be fine watching her guy have sex with another woman.”

“You’ve thought about this a lot,” I chuckled.

“Oh my gosh, Paul, you have no idea. I think about it all the time. Wren was right—we used to talk about guys, and I wanted to suck them all. I did the same thing with Brooke. Pretty much every cute guy on the swim team, at Uni, at the beach, you name it.” She looked into my eyes. “You really don’t mind? That I don’t care whose penis it is? Well, I do care, but you know what I mean. As long as the guy’s semi-decent. And not, like, old-old.”

“You can suck whoever you like,” I said.

“I know I sound like such a pervert—that I wanna suck off random guys—but you’re the one who says I shouldn’t have double standards. You do the same thing. I see the way you look at other women. You don’t say anything, but I know what you’re thinking. Like with that Colleen woman. You totally wanted to have sex with her.”

“I almost did,” I admitted. “I don’t really have a good excuse for why I didn’t.”

“Because you were holding out for someone better. Me!”

I groaned playfully.

“I’m serious,” she said. “God brought us together for a reason. And you might not realize it, but He was guiding your life too.”

“That’s a better explanation than anything I’ve come up with,” I said earnestly.

“He works in mysterious ways. And He knew I needed a man like you, so He made you say no to Colleen and all those other women Wren threw at you. Ugh! Sometimes I don’t know whether to love her or hate her. What if you’d met someone almost like me, but not quite? Then where would we be? You’d be in bed with her, while I’d be miserable and married to someone like Simon. Oh, and for the record, I did not have sex with him only because he asked me to marry him.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

“I… I’m not sure. But it wasn’t because he proposed. As a matter of fact, I’m in bed now with someone who hasn’t even done that much.”

“Yeah, but you know it’s going to happen.” I flirted with the idea of telling her what Rich had said, but I wanted it to come as a surprise when I asked her.

“That’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me. What you and Rich talked about, I mean. I know that’s what you were thinking. I know how your mind works. Remember?”

“Oh, you do, do you?”

“Uh-huh! And right now you’re wondering how long I’m going to chatter before you can turn the conversation to sex again. Well, you don’t have to wait. I’ll do it for you! I’ve been thinking about what I want to do. With new swinger guys, I mean. My libido might’ve gone into overdrive again. Sorry. Only, I’m not. It started last week. You know how I get when I’m on my period. You were busy with exams, so we couldn’t really do anything. But I was still thinking about it. Sex, I mean. Duh! What’m I always thinking about? Anyway, I want to…”

* * *

We hung out with Wren the rest of the week. She had plans with her mother one night and her father the next, so Christy and I spent a couple of quiet nights at my parents’ house. Wren joined us on Friday. She wanted to cook a proper birthday dinner for Christy, minus the smoke and tears. And since the duck took an hour in the oven, we opened a bottle of wine and relaxed in the hot tub.

My father returned from his trip while we were soaking. He came in through the garage and emerged from the patio door.

“There you are,” he said. “Hi, Christy. Hello, Wren. I wondered who was cooking. I knew it wasn’t Paul.”

“Gee, thanks, Dad.”

“Don’t mention it. It smells wonderful, by the way,” he told Wren.

“Thanks. I made enough for four,” she said. “You’re welcome to join us.”

“I wish I could, but I’m meeting a friend for drinks.”

“A friend from the crew?” I asked, which was impromptu code for a flight attendant.

“Yeah.” His expression didn’t betray a thing, but for some reason he decided to elaborate. “He’s new. Only been with the company a few months. He’s thinking about transferring here, so I promised to show him around.” Most of that was probably true, except for the pronouns.

“Ah, okay.”

“We’re supposed to have dinner too. And… we might hit the town after that.”

Or go back to her hotel room, I thought wryly.

“I don’t know when I’ll be home,” he finished. “So, don’t wait up for me.” He glanced at his watch. “Okay, I’m going to shower and head back out. Y’all have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Roger that,” I said.

We were sitting on the side of the tub when he left, about twenty minutes later. He emerged from the door to the master bedroom, said goodbye, and left through the gate. He was dressed casually, slacks and a blazer, but nicer than if he were only meeting a fellow pilot. The scent of aftershave was more confirmation that he was meeting a woman instead of a man.

I chuckled to myself and wished him luck, although he didn’t really need it.

“I like your dad,” Wren said. “He doesn’t stare at my tits. I mean, yeah, he glanced at ’em, but he didn’t make a big deal. You know? Not the way most guys would.”

“It’s rude,” I said.

“You can say that again,” Christy agreed.

“No, I mean it’s rude among nudists. Staring.”

“It’s rude, period,” Wren said.

“I don’t even think most guys realize they’re doing it,” Christy said.

“Whatever,” Wren said. She lifted her watch from atop her folded towel. “I need to take dinner out of the oven. Then it needs to rest for ten minutes. Y’all wanna dry off and get ready?”

“We’ll set the table,” I offered.

“And open another bottle of wine?” Christy suggested.

“Oh, of course. You get flirty when you’re tipsy.”

Her eyes flashed. “And horny when I’m flirty.”

“What about me?” Wren asked.

“You’re horny all the time,” I said.

“Yeah, I am.”

“So am I,” Christy objected.

“We know, my love. But you have to wait. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna burn this duck a second time.”

* * *

Wren and Christy were sleeping peacefully the next morning when I slipped out of bed to go for a run. I was still stretching when my dad’s Corvette pulled into the driveway. I made a point of looking at my watch.

“The walk of shame,” I teased when he climbed out wearing the same clothes from the night before.

“Shame? More like pride,” he bantered. “Besides, you’re one to talk. Did Wren spend the night?”

I nodded.

“So your old man isn’t the only one who scored with a couple of hot twenty-year-olds.”

My eyebrows shot up. “A couple?”

“The first one asked her friend to join us. A couple of drinks and the old Hughes charm did the trick.”

“Ah.”

He heard the disapproval in my voice, although he misinterpreted it.

“You’ll understand when you’re my age,” he said. “Your mom and I have an arrangement that works. She has her friends and I have mine.” He nodded toward the house. “Sound familiar?”

“Yeah, but Christy and Wren aren’t a couple of random—” I stopped myself before I said “conquests” and finished diplomatically instead, “flight attendants.”

My father’s eyes tightened but he controlled his temper. “First, they weren’t ‘random.’ Second, you aren’t my wife. And third, it isn’t your place to judge me. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir,” I said with a sarcastic edge. “Won’t happen again, sir.”

“Son, marriage is complicated. It isn’t wine and roses all the time. I love your mom. I love our marriage, too. But I don’t recall making vows to you.”

“Fair enough.”

We both paused to let the tension dissipate.

“You and Christy can figure out what works for you,” he said in a more fatherly tone. “That is where you’re going with her, isn’t it? Why you wanted us to meet her parents?”

“That’s part of it,” I admitted.

“Good. We like her.” He thought of something and chuckled darkly. “And if you have kids, one day you’ll have a discussion like this with your own son. I just hope you aren’t hungover and feeling a little guilty when you do.”

“Guilty?” I asked. “About last night? Mom knows, right?”

“She does. I’m not feeling guilty about that. It’s hard to explain, but one day you’ll understand. You’ll know what it feels like when your kid realizes you’re human after all.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“I know,” he said. “But that doesn’t change what just happened, does it?”

“No, I guess not.”

“In a way, I’m relieved. So, I’m only human now?” He shrugged. “I can live with that. I was before. And I’m not alone. All your idols have clay feet. Welcome to being a grown-up. Sucks, don’t it?”

“Nah. It isn’t so bad. Yeah, sure, it comes with a certain disillusionment—my father’s a man instead of a superman—but the rest is worth it.”

“Now you sound like your mom,” he said. “She was always too smart for me.”

“Is that why you married her?”

He snorted. “I married her because I loved her. And it was the right thing to do… in lots of ways.”

“You can say that again.”

“I married her because I loved her. And it—”

“Okay! I know where I get my goofy sense of humor.”

“Guilty as charged,” he said. Then he glanced at his watch. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to catch some shut-eye. I’m not as young as you are. I can’t stay up all night and then run all day. When’re you leaving?”

“A little after noon.”

“I’ll be up before you go. Now… are we good?”

“We’re good.”

“I’m glad. I love you, son.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

* * *

My father joined Christy and me in the kitchen about twenty minutes before we needed to leave for the airport. He’d showered and shaved, and he wore shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, his usual weekend outfit. He still looked tired, but better than when I’d seen him at six thirty.

“Want me to drive you?” he offered. “I don’t mind. I need to stop by Operations anyway.”

My eyebrows rose with a question.

“To pick up my bid packet. And to talk to a pilot friend, an instructor.” He read my polite skepticism. “Seriously? All right, I’m thinking about transitioning to the 767 instead of the L-1011.”

“Sounds g—”

“But wait, there’s more. We’re about to start flying the 757, and the flight deck is similar to the ’67. So I’ll be able to fly either without retraining. New plane, new lines, new opportunities,” he finished. “Now do you believe me?”

“I believed you before,” I fibbed. “But it sounds like a lot of new stuff. Can an old dog learn new tricks?”

“I’m not that old. Besides, the old tricks still get results.”

“Are we still talking about flying?”

“You tell me. Now come on, let’s get a move on.” He grabbed his car keys and glanced at our luggage. “All that? For… what? Two days?”

“It’s my fault,” Christy said immediately.

“Dress clothes,” I explained. “We have another graduation.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “I’m just giving you a hard time. Payback for the age crack.” He looked at the suitcase and garment bag. “I think they’ll fit in the back. Christy’ll have to sit in your lap, though.” He grinned. “You can talk about the first thing that comes up.”

“I see where you get it,” Christy said to me.

“What?” Dad asked.

“His delightful sense of humor.”

“Yeah, I’m the charming one. His mother’s the smart one.”

“One outta two ain’t bad,” I said under my breath.

Christy frowned. Be nice.

“What was that?” Dad said.

“Your hearing is starting to go.”

“What?”

I raised my voice. “I said… Your hearing is— Oh, very funny.”

“Gotcha.” He winked at Christy. “Come on, let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

* * *

The flight attendants were wrapping up the preflight briefing when Christy suddenly stiffened. She stared intently at the attendant in the aisle a few rows ahead of us. She was a pretty blonde, tall and svelte. She was a little too made-up for my taste, and nothing about her stood out as something that Christy might find attractive.

“What’s the matter?” I asked her in a low voice.

“Did she just say, ‘on behalf of the pilots and crew’?”

“I think so. Why?”

“Nothing,” she lied.

“No, tell me.”

“Yesterday. You asked if your dad was meeting ‘a friend from the crew.’ You didn’t say ‘a pilot friend.’ You’re very precise. With your words.” She thought back, and her eyes widened. “Oh my gosh! He was meeting a stewardess, wasn’t he? Flight attendant. Whatever. You know what I mean. But… he had a date!”

I chuckled. “I’m surprised you figured it out.”

“Surprised? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I just didn’t think it was obvious.”

“Of course it was! His clothes, his attitude, his aftershave! And… he didn’t come home last night. I heard him this morning after you left for your run.”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Paul, dear, I always wake up when you leave.”

“Always?”

“Always. I can’t help it. But you’re trying to change the subject. I’m right, aren’t I? He had a date.”

I nodded. “Does that bother you?”

“Not me. What about your mother?”

“She knows,” I said with more confidence than I actually felt.

“Are you sure?”

“She knows in general. Besides, think about where she is.”

“Oh. I suppose you’re right.”

“Mmm hmm. What’s good for the goose…”

“…is good for the gander.” Her brows knitted. “I… don’t want to be like that. Don’t want us to be like that, I mean.”

“Okay,” I said slowly.

“I don’t mind if you…” She glanced around at the other passengers. “You know,” she finished in a guarded tone. “I’m fine if I know what you’re doing. Like with Terri. But… promise me we’ll never be like that, where I go off with my ‘friend’ and you do whatever you like with your own… um… ‘friends.’ I know that doesn’t make sense, but—”

“No, I think I got it,” I chuckled.

“This isn’t funny,” she said. “It’s serious. I don’t want to end up like Wren’s parents. I don’t want to be like yours, either. Or mine, for that matter.”

“How ’bout we do what we want. You know, figure it out for ourselves.”

“Fine, Mr. Flippant. This is all so easy for you.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry. And for the record, this isn’t easy for me. I’m having to figure it out as I go… just like you are.”

“I’m glad,” she said, part serious, part resentful. “I hate feeling like I’m the only one who doesn’t know what I’m doing.”

“No, there are two of us in this relationship.”

“Are there?”

“Of course!”

“No, two of us who don’t know what we’re doing. That’s what I meant.”

“Oh, thank God,” I said with genuine relief.

“I do. Every day. And… I know I should feel guilty, but I’m glad you don’t know what you’re doing either. I don’t mind figuring things out together, but I get scared when I think you’re going to leave me if I don’t do it quick enough.”

“No, never. I’m pretty patient, especially where you’re concerned.”

“I know. And thank you. But I can be pretty dense sometimes.”

“Not dense,” I said gently. “You were raised differently. And you’re trying to figure out my world.”

“Our,” she corrected. “It’s our world now.”

“Right. Our world.”

She breathed a sigh and began to relax for real. “There are so many things, aren’t there? To figure out. In relationships, I mean. They’re complicated.”

I nodded.

“My mother would probably tell me to get used to it. But… do you think we ever will?”

“Of course. It might take twenty years, but I’m willing to give it a try.”

“Do you really think it’ll take that long? We’ll be old then.”

“No we won’t,” I laughed. “We’ll be my parents’ age. They aren’t old.”

She didn’t want to argue, but she clearly disagreed.

“What?” I teased. “You don’t want to grow old with me?”

“I don’t want to do it at all. What if you get tired of me? Or don’t like the way I look? What if I get fat? What if my—?”

“Do you really think I’m that shallow?” I asked.

“No.” She sighed. “I know you aren’t. But I still worry about things.” She thought about it and sighed again. “God, grant me the serenity…”

“Yeah.”

She leaned against my arm and fell silent.

“You okay?” I asked after a minute.

She nodded. “Only, I wish we weren’t staying with my parents.”

“Why? ’Cause we can’t sleep together?”

“I don’t think you understand,” she said. “How much I miss it when you aren’t there.”

“It’s only two nights.”

“That’s okay. I can sneak—”

“Oh no you can’t,” I said quickly. “Your dad already had a talk with me. He heard us last time.”

She bolted upright, and her eyes grew wide. “He heard us?”

“Not… you know. He heard us talking.”

“Oh my gosh, don’t scare me like that!”

“Sorry,” I chuckled. “Anyway, you can’t do it again. I’m supposed to send you back to your own room if you do.”

She frowned.

“Their house, their rules.”

“I know. Only, I don’t like them. Not anymore. The rules, I mean. Not my parents. I still love them. I just wish… Ugh! I’m not a little girl anymore. Why do they—? Oh my gosh! This is exactly what your mom and Erin were arguing about.”

“Yep. And I had a similar conversation with my dad. This morning.”

“It’s like they don’t want us to grow up or something.”

“They do, but they need time to adjust.” They aren’t the only ones, I thought sardonically.

“How long? They wouldn’t even let Danny and Sabrina spend the night together.”

“Then you and I don’t really stand a chance. We’ll just have to follow the rules.”

“I know. I don’t have to like it, though.”

I let her sulk, and I was about to make a suggestion when she spoke up.

“Maybe we can go for a walk tonight? Down to the beach? What’s so funny?”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“If I can’t sneak into your room, I’m definitely going to need some time alone. With you, I mean.”

“I was hoping,” I chuckled.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Paul. You’re so silly sometimes.”

“Yes, but I’m your silly.”

“Mmm, I know.”

* * *

We didn’t get our walk on the beach. Well, we did, but not alone. Rich said he was home for Father’s Day, but he was really there to keep an eye on yours truly. And, of course, he offered to join us when Christy told her parents we were going for a walk. We couldn’t say no without making it obvious what we were up to.

“I don’t need a chaperone,” Christy complained as we left the house. “I’m a grown woman.”

“Twenty-one,” Rich agreed. “All grown-up.”

“I can look after myself.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“You aren’t going to listen, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Ugh!”

He glanced at me. “How’s the hand?”

“Healing. How’s the face?”

“The same. Stitches came out the day before yesterday. How long do you have to wear the splint?”

“Another two weeks.”

“So I got the better end of the bargain?”

“Oh, no,” I said sincerely. “I’d wear a full cast for six weeks if I could do it again. The look on your face was priceless.”

“Mmm. I can imagine. Where’d you learn to hit like that? Not judo or wrestling.”

“Boxing. A guy named Dwayne. Golden Gloves type. Good guy. Really good fighter.”

Rich nodded. Then he eyed me sideways. “You could still join the Navy, you know. After college.”

Christy tried clearing her throat, but Rich ignored her.

“You could do OCS,” he continued. “I don’t think you have what it takes to be a SEAL, but you might make a decent pilot. Sub service is pretty selective too.”

“Rich, I can do anything I want. SEALs, pilots, subs… doesn’t matter. It’s all the same, hard work and pigheaded determination. But Christy and I have other plans.”

“It isn’t because of your mother?”

“No. To be honest, I never knew she felt that strongly about it.”

“Well, you aren’t a pantywaist, that’s for sure. And your father’s a genuine hero. It was an honor to meet him, by the way.”

“What exactly did he do to earn your respect? Your father’s too.”

“You mean you don’t know?” Rich said smugly.

“No. And if I had to guess, you don’t either.”

He didn’t deny it. “I could probably pull some strings and find out, even if it’s still classified, but my dad told me enough. He respects your old man, and that’s good enough for me.”

“He respects Paul too,” Christy said.

“Yeah, he does,” Rich said, albeit reluctantly.

“So why don’t you?” she pressed.

“I do, Sis. I just don’t like him. There’s a difference.”

I spoke up, “I think you don’t want to like me, Rich.”

Again, he didn’t deny it.

“You think I’m trying to take Birdy away from you, that I won’t protect her like you do.”

“Well? Will you?”

“What do you think?” I said. “I stood up to you. Several times. Once when you had a gun.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Sorry about that. The weapon, I mean. I shouldn’t’ve used it. I’d’ve been in real trouble. I’m not sorry about hitting you.”

“I know the feeling.”

“Ha! I’m sure you do.” He fell silent and then snorted a laugh. “You’re a cocky one too.”

“I just about have to be,” I said, “to fit in with you bunch of lunatics and overachievers.”

“Yeah, I’ll give you that.”

We walked in silence and crossed the main road to the oceanside park.

“I think we’re going to walk to the playground,” Christy said. “You can go back now if you’d like, Rich.”

“Sorry, can’t. Orders.”

“Whose? Mom’s or Dad’s?”

“Doesn’t matter. Orders are orders.”

“What if I gave you an order?”

“Sorry, Sis, you don’t outrank me.”

“Neither does Mom.”

He snorted.

“So you won’t leave us alone?”

He thought about it and looked at me. “I will, on one condition.”

“Which is?” I said cautiously.

“You swear that nothing… immoral… will happen.”

My eyebrows lifted.

“Well?” he said.

“Rich, you know we live together, right?”

His jaw muscle twitched.

“And we’re sleeping together,” I continued. “Not just once in a while, but every night.”

Christy stiffened and held her breath.

“I know,” Rich said flatly.

“Your parents do too.”

“So what if they do? Besides, I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“It’s relevant because everyone knows what’s going on, but none of you are willing to face the truth and admit it.”

“What’s your point?” He was being obtuse on purpose, but it made his position crystal clear: he wasn’t going to acknowledge the mile-wide chasm between his beliefs and reality.

I decided to be polite instead of sarcastic. “So if you don’t see it and don’t talk about it, it doesn’t happen?”

“You’re starting to catch on. You’ll have to ask my brother to explain. Jim, I mean. He’s the theologian in the family. Me? I just follow orders.”

“And you’re very good at it.” I tried not to let my annoyance show, but he saw it and grinned.

“Oh, I’m good at everything I do.”

“You’re pretty cocky yourself.”

“I grew up with a bunch of lunatics and overachievers,” he said dryly.

“Yeah, I guess you did. And I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”

“Nope. Not a chance.”

We stared at each other with a surprising lack of hostility.

“Fine,” I said at last. “I swear, nothing ‘immoral’ will happen.”

“My definition of immoral,” he insisted. “Not yours.”

“Yeah, okay,” I agreed. “Your definition.”

He grinned again. “Did you know I dated a lawyer once?”

“Everything’s a sparring match with you, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh. And I hate losing.”

“It runs in the family.” I glanced at Christy. “Next time I’ll let you argue with her.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” He turned serious. “No funny business. You’re on your honor.” He gave me another meaningful look before he turned and walked away. The smug son of a bitch even started whistling. Cheerfully!

* * *

My bedroom door opened at six o’clock the next morning. I’d been awake for a while. I was alone, too, and had been all night. I didn’t even bother to open my eyes.

“Whaddya want, Rich?”

“Time for PT,” he said. “Get your ass up. Let’s go.”

“Seriously? You know I’m not in the military, right?”

“Get dressed. I’ll be outside. See you in five. That’s minutes, by the way.”

I met him in five. Minutes. He gave me time to stretch and then we set off at a leisurely pace.

I glanced at him sideways. “Are we gonna see who’s the biggest badass today?”

“No. I know who is.”

“Good. ’Cause I’m not in the mood to run a marathon.”

“The only easy day was yesterday,” he said.

“Hooyah.”

“Don’t say that.”

I paused. “Why not?”

“You haven’t earned it.”

“Fair enough.”

We ran in silence for the next ten minutes. Rich eyed me several times, but I was in good condition and wasn’t winded.

“Five miles sound about right?” he said. It was an honest question, not a challenge.

“Sure, no problem.”

He nodded and pushed buttons on his watch. It beeped and went silent.

“Pick up the pace a little?” I suggested.

“Yeah, okay.”

We finished the five miles in companionable silence and turned into the neighborhood. We slowed to a walk to cool off. And when we neared his parents’ house, he looked over at me.

“I still don’t like you.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said mildly. “But… who’re you trying to convince, me or you?”

* * *

Christy and I wished Harold a happy Father’s Day over breakfast. I called my parents’ house and left a message on the answering machine for my own father. I told him I loved him and apologized for doubting him.

Then Christy and I went to shower and get ready, separately. Brooke’s graduation started at ten thirty, and we needed to leave by nine. Christy wore a strapless white sundress that showed off her tan shoulders and slender figure. I’d chosen a blue and white seersucker suit to match, with a lime green tie for a splash of color.

Anne offered to lend us her car, and I wondered why she was willing to do that when she wouldn’t let us walk on the beach by ourselves. Part of me suspected that Rich had more to do with it than his parents, but I couldn’t be sure.

Then again, Christy and I had plans all day, with little time for extracurricular activities. I was pretty sure I could find someplace private if I really wanted to, but I didn’t have a time machine to do it and still be everywhere we needed to be.

“Let me get the camera,” Anne said before she let us leave.

“Didn’t we do this already?” Rich muttered.

“Be nice, Richard,” she told him. “Or I’ll start asking when you’re going to bring a girl home to meet us.”

“You know what my life’s like,” he protested mildly. “I don’t have time for dating.”

“You need to find a nice woman and settle down. Before you’re thirty,” she added pointedly. “You’ll need a wife if you want to make the Navy a career.”

“I know,” he said in resignation.

“You’ll find someone when the time is right. Now, run along, dear. Let me take my pictures.”

* * *

We met Brooke and her family on campus about an hour before things began. Her father was a distinguished man in his mid-fifties, tall and slim, with light brown hair, hazel eyes, and glasses. He looked like the scientist he was. Her mother was slim and rather plain. She had red hair, but it was a deeper auburn than Brooke’s, although their eyes were the same.

Brooke’s older sister took after their father. She had the same hair and eyes, and she even wore similar glasses. She was a scientist too, a chemist, and married to a physicist. They lived in New Mexico and worked as researchers in a government lab. Their brother looked like a male version of Brooke, with coppery red hair, freckles, and their mother’s blue eyes. He still lived in Texas, where he’d just finished a PhD in microbiology.

They were all reasonably attractive and highly intelligent, with nearly a dozen advanced degrees among them, but none of them were in the same league as Brooke. Some random combination of genes had given her supermodel looks and Nobel laureate brains. In other words, she’d won the genetic lottery, literally.

We posed for pictures and then spent the rest of the time talking to Brooke’s family. Her brother and I had a good-natured argument about which was the “real” UT, the University of Tennessee or the University of Texas.

“UT is bigger,” he said.

“But Tennessee’s had the name since 1794. Texas wasn’t founded until…?”

“Um… 1893, I think.”

“Ouch. Almost a hundred years later.”

“Ninety-nine.”

“But who’s counting?”

“Okay, but Texas has the prettiest girls.”

“I dunno,” I said. “Look around, dude. California girls.” I put my arm around Christy, who beamed on cue. “They’re pretty cute.”

“Let’s agree to disagree. UT is bigger but Tennessee is older.”

“You mean Texas is bigger but UT is older.”

“Whatever,” he said. “But we agree that California has the prettiest girls.”

“I sure like mine!”

“Oh, boy,” Christy said. “Come on. We need to go in. They’re going to start soon.”

The ceremony itself was a lot smaller than I thought it’d be. The individual colleges held separate events, so Brooke’s was only about five hundred people. They finished in less than two hours and held a reception on the commons immediately after. Unfortunately, Christy and I couldn’t stay.

“When do you have to meet your family?” Brooke asked her.

“Oh, we have plenty of time.”

Brooke looked at me, and I checked my watch.

“We need to leave now. Sorry.”

“Can’t we stay a little longer?” Christy wheedled.

“We’ll see her later.”

“Where are you meeting them?” Brooke asked.

“A place called Bali Hai.”

“See? It’s close,” Christy said.

“Chris, that’s Shelter Island! It’s fifteen miles from here.”

“So? We can get there in, like, ten minutes.”

“Only if you’re a bird. It’s more like thirty-five for those of us who drive,” Brooke said.

“I drive,” Christy muttered.

Brooke looked at her watch. “You need to go. We’ll hang out later. Did you bring your swimsuits?”

“Of course,” Christy said.

“We’ll come to your house when we get back,” I promised.

Brooke glanced at her family and then leaned close. “There’s… um… supposed to be a party on the beach tonight.”

“Ugh!” Christy said. “I don’t wanna talk about the beach.”

Brooke frowned, so I explained.

“And then you wouldn’t do anything after he left,” Christy accused.

“I gave my word.”

“Fine. But what if he does it again tonight?”

“Don’t tell him,” Brooke said. “Just say you’re going to hang out at my house. My whole family’ll be there.”

“Do you think it’ll work?” Christy asked.

“It’s worth a try,” I said, and Brooke nodded. I looked at my watch again.

“Yeah, you need to go.” Brooke hugged Christy and then me. Her body felt good in my arms, and she sighed without realizing it.

I grinned. “Yeah, me too.”

She flushed pink. Then she moistened her lips and looked at me from under her lashes.

Mr. Big reacted predictably.

“Uh-oh,” Christy said. “We need to go, before someone gets us in trouble.”

“Who, me?”

“No, him. We’ll see you later,” she said to Brooke.

* * *

Christy and I met her family for a late Father’s Day brunch, and Harry, Marianne, and the kids joined us. The Bali Hai was a tiki restaurant straight out of the fifties. The buffet was on the pricy side, but we were there for the atmosphere more than anything. Besides, Christy, Rich, and their mother ate enough for several people, so Harold definitely got his money’s worth. Afterward we lingered over mai tais and enjoyed the amazing views of San Diego Bay and the downtown skyline.

Harry, Marianne, and the kids said goodbye after an hour or so. Rich gave me a pointed look before he left as well. It was a silent reminder of our conversation in Knoxville. Christy and I were glad not to have a self-appointed chaperone but also a little confused about why he’d gone.

“We thought you could use a break,” Harold said as we walked out to the parking lot. “I told Rich I’d keep an eye on you.”

The women were far enough ahead that they couldn’t hear.

“Um… okay,” I said cautiously.

“So, while you’re out with Birdy tonight, just remember…”

I waited for him to finish, but he never did. “Remember what?” I said at last.

“I’m sorry, what were we talking about?”

“Nothing,” I chuckled.

“Right. Nothing.”

“And… um… thanks.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

Back at her parents’ house, Christy and I changed into comfortable clothes over our swimsuits, packed towels and a few other things in the beach bag, and slipped off to Brooke’s without any fuss. She and her family were in the middle of a game of Trivial Pursuit when we arrived.

“Fresh blood,” her father said.

“Watch out,” her sister warned, “he means that literally.”

“I concede,” Brooke said. She removed her piece from the board and dumped its five little wedges into the pile.

“But you were winning,” her father protested.

“I guess.” She shrugged and then smiled at Christy. “C’mon, I’ll grab my suit. We’ll meet you out there, Paul.”

“So,” her father said when the girls had gone, “Brooke tells us you’re studying to be an architect.”

I nodded, and we had a polite conversation about how I knew his daughter. Then he asked how I’d hurt my hand. I fibbed and told him an accident at the gym, which he accepted at face value. I wasn’t ashamed of the truth, but it was a longer story than I wanted to go into. I decided to change the subject anyway, so I asked about Brooke’s brother.

“He had to return to Austin,” his mother said. “He just started a new job.”

“Ah, okay. Well, it was nice to meet him.”

“He said the same about you.”

The girls returned.

“Ready to go?” Brooke said. She wore her wrap and carried a beach towel.

“Sure. Nice talking to you,” I told her family.

They collectively smiled and returned their attention to more important matters, like whose turn it was in the game. They weren’t New Yorkers, but they were surprisingly loud after the quiet conversation from a moment before.

“Sorry,” Brooke said as soon as I closed the patio door behind us. “They’ve been like that all weekend. They’re driving me nuts.”

“That’s what families are for,” I said. “You wanna hang out or go for a swim?”

“Swim, please,” Christy said immediately.

“What I really want is a drink,” Brooke said under her breath.

“Nervous?” I asked.

“A little, yeah.”

“Well, don’t be. Let’s just relax.”

She nodded and removed her wrap. Her bikini was blue and pink, with French-cut bottoms and a bandeau top. It was more conservative than the one from Easter, but she looked just as good in it. She blushed when she saw my expression.

“I should apologize now,” I said. “For anything Mr. Big says or does, especially when you look like that.”

“I told you,” Christy said to her.

“You too,” I added. “Between Rich and my hand, I haven’t been able to relieve any pressure all weekend.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” she mocked.

“Hey, two days is a long time.”

“Not really,” Brooke said.

“Are you kidding?” I shot back. “Have you ever gone two days without… you know?”

“Of course.”

“She’s lying,” Christy said immediately. “She probably did it last night.”

Brooke’s rosy cheeks were answer enough.

“She’s an evening person,” Christy added. “I’m a morning person.”

“Do you have to tell him all my dirty little secrets?” Brooke complained.

“What?” Christy said. “It’s natural. Everyone does it.”

“Yeah, but what would Sister Prune say?”

Christy made a comical horror face. “Oh no! Not Sister Prune! Ahhhhh!”

Brooke rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a grin.

“You love me,” Christy said. “You know you do.”

* * *

Brooke eventually relaxed as late afternoon turned to evening. Her family finished their game, and we ate dinner with them on the patio. Her sister had baked a big southwest casserole with Hatch chiles, and her mother threw together a salad to go with it. Her father opened several bottles of wine.

“To our last graduate,” he toasted, “and our next doctor.”

Brooke and Christy both grew a little flirty as dinner progressed and the wine flowed. I half-expected her parents to do the same, but they were quietly affectionate instead of showy about it. Her sister and brother-in-law didn’t drink much at all. They weren’t teetotalers, but neither of them had a second glass.

“I heard about a party tonight,” I said at last, if only to move things along, “on the beach. Are you girls interested?”

“Yeah!” Christy said immediately.

Brooke turned reluctant all of a sudden, and I wondered if I’d missed something.

“Go on,” her mother told her. “Have fun. Just you kids. Take a blanket and some wine.”

My eyebrows flew up before I could stop them. Her father missed it completely, but her mother picked up on my surprise.

“It’ll be your last chance,” she told her daughter, “before you’re too busy with your internship.”

Brooke nodded and glanced nervously my way.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” I said.

“Of course she wants to,” Christy said. “Don’t you?”

“Go on, sweetheart,” her mother urged, “have fun with your friends.”

I heard something in her voice and wondered if she knew what we were planning. A party on the beach? A guy and two girls? A blanket and wine? It was too much like the setup for a Penthouse letter or a scene from a porn movie. She answered my probing look with a bland smile, and that convinced me. She knew.

“Yeah, okay,” Brooke said.

Her mother’s smile turned genuine. “Let’s go find the blanket.”

“Wine’s in the fridge,” her father said.

“Don’t forget the corkscrew,” Christy added cheerfully.

* * *

We left Brooke’s house with Christy’s beach bag plus another loaded with a large blanket, two bottles of wine, and a small picnic hamper. Christy grew more excited with each step, while Brooke’s attitude went the opposite direction.

“What’s the matter?” Christy finally asked her.

“What? Oh, nothing,” Brooke lied.

“No, something’s bothering you,” Christy pressed. “I thought you wanted to go to the beach.”

“I do, but…” She glanced at me.

“Cold feet?” I said.

“I hate that I’m like this. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I told her. “Do you want to go to the party instead?”

“No,” she laughed ruefully, “I want to be someone else, someone more confident.”

“The wine’ll do that.”

Christy nodded.

“I thought it had!” Brooke said.

“We don’t have to do anything,” I told her.

“Unh! What about me?” Christy whined. She looked at Brooke. “You know what you need? A good, hard fucking. Doesn’t she, Paul?”

“That’s up to her.”

“I want to,” Brooke insisted, “but I don’t know if I can.”

“Of course you can,” Christy said. “Paul, dear—”

“Whoa, there, Little Bit,” I said. “Let’s slow down. Remember how long it took you?”

“But she’s done it before!”

“Yeah… two months ago. And she hasn’t seen me since.”

“Yeah, okay. You’re right.”

“I thought I was ready,” Brooke said sullenly.

“Don’t worry about it,” I told her. “Let’s just find a nice little dune, someplace private, and relax.”

“Are you sure? You aren’t upset? I know she is,” she added without looking at Christy.

“Oh, Brooke, no! I’m not, I swear. I just want you to be happy.”

“Thanks,” Brooke said. Then she forced a smile. “I… um… know a good place. Take a left instead of a right when we get to the park.”

Ten minutes later we crested a row of dunes and descended into the shelter beyond. The wind dropped, along with the sound of traffic from the main road. We could still hear the sound of the surf, but another row of dunes hid the ocean from view. Christy and I spread the blanket while Brooke unpacked acrylic wineglasses from the hamper.

The evening was warm, and we were well out of sight, so I took off my shirt and kicked off my shoes. Then I opened a bottle of wine and poured three glasses. Brooke drained hers immediately. She held it out for a refill.

“Thanks.” She took a smaller drink. “I don’t know why I lost my nerve. Earlier. This’s all I’ve been thinking about for, like, a week.”

“Do you want to get comfortable before we do anything?” I suggested.

“You mean, do I wanna get naked?”

“Something like that,” I laughed. Then I looked around, just in case. “Does anyone—?”

“No. That’s why I picked it. The party’s up the beach, at the north end of the park. No one comes down here unless they’re planning to make out.”

“Like us?”

“Like us,” she agreed.

I nodded to Christy, who untied her linen capri pants and slid them down her legs. I gestured at the drawstring on my swimsuit.

“You want me to…?”

“Yes, please,” they said in unison. That lightened the mood, and they shared a grin.

“Why was I nervous?” Brooke mused as she took off her shorts.

“You’ve done it before,” I added. “And enjoyed it.”

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about. Even more than graduating.” She added with a laugh, “I was so excited that I didn’t wear panties!”

“Hold on, what?”

“I didn’t!” She finished unbuttoning her shirt. “I took them off in the bathroom before it started. They’re still in my purse!”

“Brooke O’Neill,” Christy said in wonder, “you tramp.”

“I know, right!”

“What was it like?”

She thought about it as she unfastened the catch on her bikini top. Then she casually dropped it to the blanket. Her breasts were pale and perfect, and her light pink nipples almost disappeared against her creamy skin. She hooked her thumbs in her bottoms.

“It was breezy,” she said at last. “I don’t have any fur to keep my lady parts warm.” She lowered the bottoms and stepped out of them. “I shaved completely last week,” she added superfluously. “That’s how excited I’ve been.”

“It’s kinda fun, isn’t it?” Christy kicked off her own bottoms. They landed four feet from her other clothes.

Brooke followed my glance and laughed. “Yeah, she’s always been like that, a mess.”

“Who, me? I’m not a mess. I’m very tidy.”

“You are not!” Brooke knelt and brushed sand from the edge of the blanket. “Okay, how’m I supposed to sit? Cross-legged seems… I dunno… indecent.”

“Exactly!” Christy sank to the blanket and sat with her feet tucked under her.

“You know I can’t do that. My legs go to sleep. Aw, to hell with it.” She sat cross-legged and brushed imaginary sand away from her pussy.

“Hey,” Christy said to me. “You still haven’t taken your swimsuit off.”

“Oh, yeah! Sorry, I was distracted.” I slid my shorts down my legs and kicked them aside. My erection sprang up.

“Ooh, that’s more like it,” Christy said.

“Well, hello!” Brooke laughed. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen one of those.”

“Me too.”

“Do you need to get reacquainted?” I asked.

“Mmm, yes, please.” Christy crawled toward me and knelt at my feet. She began kissing the underside of my cock.

“I’d better warn you,” I said, “I don’t know how long I’ll last. I’m pretty worked up, and it’s been a while…”

“Yummy testicles,” Christy murmured before she gently captured one.

“Care to join her?” I asked Brooke.

“Maybe in a minute.” She stood instead. After a moment’s hesitation she moved to my side.

I put my arm around her and bent to kiss her. She sighed and molded her body to mine. Hers was warm and soft, and she sighed into my mouth when I cupped her ass and pulled her against me. We made out for a couple of minutes, and she grew more excited. Then she grinned and sank to her knees beside Christy.

I lasted barely a minute once both girls started sucking. Christy moaned softly as the first spurts coated her tongue. She tried to share, but the next spurt hit Brooke’s cheek instead. She captured my cock and flinched in surprise at the force of the final gushes.

“Oh my gosh,” Christy panted, “that was a lot.”

“I’m a good squirrel,” I joked. “I saved up my nuts.”

“That was terrible,” Brooke laughed. She wiped semen from her cheek and licked her finger. Then she licked a drop that had oozed from the tip of my shaft. She began sucking, and I closed my eyes. Christy joined her a moment later, and they continued until I thought I might come again. I finally had to pull my cock away.

“Unh!” Christy complained.

“On your back,” I told her.

“Oh. Yes, sir.”

“Brooke, on top of her in a sixty-nine.”

The girls moved into position, and I knelt behind Brooke’s perfect ass. I set my cock at her opening and slid into her. My vision swam. Her pussy felt like a sauna that had been heating up for days. She moaned as I filled her completely, and I paused to catch my breath. I wasn’t sure how long I’d last the second time, either.

I held Brooke’s hips and didn’t move. I breathed deep through my nose and tried to ignore the rising tide of pleasure. Then Christy started licking my balls instead of Brooke’s clit. My whole body seemed to swell, until I arched my back and cried out. Waves of ecstasy surged through my dick and spread outward. I closed my eyes and gave in.

When I opened them again, my senses flickered to life one at a time. The stars snapped into place and the surf hiss-boomed in the distance. The salt tang of the ocean filled my nostrils, and I tasted a lingering buttery sweetness from the wine. Brooke’s hips felt solid in my hands, her skin warm against mine.

I caught my breath and waited for my senses to stop overloading my brain. Then I sat back, and Christy squeaked in surprise. Pearly drops glistened on her forehead, and I couldn’t help but laugh. I’d shot so much semen that it had leaked from Brooke’s pussy when I’d pulled out. Christy recovered quickly and began licking our combined juices.

I swallowed to moisten my mouth and then found my wineglass. It had fallen over and spilled onto the blanket. I dusted off a few grains of sand and refilled it. Then I watched the girls for several minutes, until Brooke cried out softly and held Christy’s hips.

She eventually relaxed and caught her breath. Then she swung her leg over Christy’s head, although Christy sat up before she could move between her legs.

“What’s the matter?” Brooke asked.

“Nothing. I just want a drink before we keep going. But I’m fine. For now, I mean.”

“Don’t you want me to—?”

“I’m fine. I… um… took care of things this morning.” She glanced at me and blushed. “Maybe a couple of times.”

My eyebrows rose with amusement.

“I’m still in the mood,” Christy continued quickly. “Only, I want to let it build up. I know that doesn’t make sense, but—”

“She wants to simmer for a while,” I said.

“Exactly!”

“Oh, okay,” Brooke said. “I thought you didn’t want me to. Like, at all.” She glanced at me. “You know, since Paul’s here.”

“Oh my gosh, no! Besides, he doesn’t do it like you do. Sorry, you don’t,” she said to me. “Don’t get me wrong, I love when you do, but…” She shrugged. “You aren’t like Brooke.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “Everyone eats pussy better than I do. I think there are straight women and high school boys who do it better.”

Christy rolled her eyes. “You aren’t that bad.”

“You aren’t,” Brooke agreed. “But you aren’t as familiar with the equipment as we are.”

I changed the subject with the wine bottle. “Who’s ready for more?”

“Me, please.” “I am.”

I refilled their glasses and we sipped in silence.

“I’m glad I came tonight,” Brooke said. “I’m sorry I started to chicken out.”

“You’re here now,” I said.

“And that’s all that matters,” Christy finished.

“Thanks, but… I’ve been thinking, about this camp of yours.”

“What about it?” I asked.

“I know I said I’d come, but… I’m having second thoughts. Is it a bunch of old people and weirdos? I don’t wanna go if guys’re just going to stare at me.”

“It isn’t like that at all,” I laughed. “The main camp is for couples and families. Most are older, my parents’ age or retirees, but there are younger ones too, in their twenties or early thirties. Everyone’s really cool, though. No one stares.”

“They don’t,” Christy agreed. “It’s a rule or something.”

I nodded. “Besides, we’ll be staying in the new part of the camp. It’s only for swingers.”

“Are there really that many?” Brooke asked.

“Yes and no. Maybe five or six couples at any given time. But we tend to hang out together, so it seems like more.”

“The new camp is just for us,” Christy added. “Paul and Trip are working on it. It won’t even be officially open until next year.”

“Who’s ‘us’?”

“At first just Paul and me. Then Wren and Trip. Erin, Leah, and Mark are supposed to be there later this summer. They’re in Europe now. Erin and Leah, I mean. Mark’s in… Seattle?”

I nodded.

“So it’s a small group,” Christy finished. “And everyone’s our age.”

“What’re they like?” Brooke asked.

Christy described Wren and Trip in glowing terms. I was a bit surprised, especially about him, but it made sense. She was trying to convince Brooke, not scare her off. I nodded along as she described Erin, Leah, and Mark.

“So… what?” Brooke said. “Is it, like, sex all the time?”

“No,” I laughed. “Trip and I have to work. During the day, at least. We’ll have nights and weekends to do what we want, though.”

“What about us?”

“You girls are basically on vacation. So you can relax by the pool, read a book, play games, whatever.”

Christy nodded enthusiastically.

“Sounds pretty normal,” Brooke said.

“It is. But we’re still swingers, so…”

“We can do whatever we want,” Christy said.

“Whenever you want,” Brooke finished with a nod.

Christy baited the hook. “So… you could do it with a couple of guys. At the same time.”

Brooke swallowed hard.

“And when Mark gets there… three guys.”

“Three…?”

“Mmm hmm. Three guys, all at once.”

“All at once…?”

“Three mouths, three sets of fingers, three dicks,” Christy said in a low voice, “all for you.”

“Oh, Chris… I never should’ve told you.”

“Why? I told you all my fantasies.”

“Yeah, but now you’re using mine against me.”

“Mmm, I know. So you’ll come?”

“God help me… yes.”