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Heart Ball
This material is Copyright, 2001, Uther Pendragon. All rights reserved. I specifically grant the right of downloading and keeping ONE electronic copy for your personal reading so long as this notice is included. Reposting requires previous permission. All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. |
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Heart Ball
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"Well, we're springing it on your mother, for which I apologize. My idea was to take your income -- including current surplus -- for the next eighteen months, subtract extraordinary expenses, and break the rest into seventy-eight equal amounts. Then your mother would dole out those amounts and the budgeted extraordinary expenses as well." "Sounds awful complicated," Shannon said. "Sounds a little complicated to me as well," her mom said. "The budget at college is the problem, and there is no sense deciding that now. Why don't we set up a budget to the end of school? We can figure out where that causes problems, and do another for over the summer. You'll really need less when you aren't buying school lunches, dear." Her dad loaded the dishwasher while she and her mom figured things out. Some things, Mom pushed her to pare back; but others, like desserts at school and snacks elsewhere, she insisted would cost more than Shannon thought. They had everything down on the list when Dad got back. "And what for incidentals?" he asked. Shannon thought that there couldn't be incidentals -- they had covered everything. "Would five dollars a week be enough? And put the church pledge down, too." "Shannon remembered that," her mom said. "Four-twenty-three will even the total out." "Is four dollars and twenty-three cents enough for incidentals?" her dad asked. "I don't understand you guys," she responded. "Look, Shannon," her dad said, "you have to learn to live on your budget. Someday, you'll need a new pair of pantyhose." "Pantyhose is on the budget." "So it is, but you'll need one more pair than has been budgeted. So that week you won't have incidentals, or you won't join your friends for a soda after school. I don't care what, so long as you don't starve yourself at lunch time. The time is coming when you'll have to live on a tight budget, but that isn't today. Let's take one step at a time. Talking of which, what are the extraordinary expenses which you can foresee?" "I'll get the expenses for the pictures and that sort of stuff tomorrow if I can. The yearbook's going up, but I forget how much. And then there are the dance dresses. Not the regular dances but the balls." "The yearbook, cap and gown, that sort of stuff, we can put on the budget just under their names," her dad said. "We'll need more information later, but you'll go through the graduation formalities. It will cost, but we'll fill in that amount later. Do you really need a new dress for every ball?" "She needs one for the prom," Mom said. "She has enough for the other dances." She had worn a prom dress her junior year. Wayne didn't see why she couldn't wear it again, but he wasn't going to fight that battle. "I need a new dress for this coming ball," Shannon said. She needed a front-clasp bra, too. "I might need one more." "So," her dad said, "we're cutting out what? Two dresses?" She counted the remaining balls in her head. "Yes, two. Anyway, can we put dollars on that another day? I want to get some things done before babysitting." When she got to her room, the panty-liner was virtually clean. Still, she wiped herself, inserted a new tampon, and donned fresh panties. The last thing she wanted was to have Steve touch some of her blood. She dressed in a loose skirt and a worn flannel shirt which had been her dad's until the sleeves had to be cut short. A sweater over that was all the preparation she made until Mr. Jensen called that he was on his way. "We'll get you home by eleven," he told Shannon when she got in his car. It was later than she had ever started an evening for them, but nothing extraordinary for most of her other customers. She had told him of her babysitting curfew. Telling him was her duty, since Mrs. Green had already used up her late night. "Well, if you run late, call and warn me. You do have a phone machine?" Once she was there, she couldn't do anything until they did get home; and she didn't care. "Well, Theresa -- and Peggy -- are going to be less permissive than you are. She's feeding her now, though." "You don't mind about Steve?" "Not when you're taking care of the girls. Just when she is." Amy was already in bed, and Mrs. Jensen was at that end of the house. Mr. Jensen kept his coat on while he checked her out once again. "We'll be at my sister's house, Sandra Foster. Here's the phone number. It's her wedding anniversary, so ask for Bill or Theresa. The place will be crawling with Jensens." They stood there awkwardly. Shannon didn't feel she could ask about Amy's future, and couldn't think of another subject. Suddenly Mr. Jensen spoke again. "You're willing to take a check aren't you? I should have asked that before." "I'm willing, especially from you; but I prefer cash." After all, she wasn't quite certain about this budget business. "Checks are fine, but if somebody asks about using me as a babysitter don't tell them that." "Well, we probably have the cash between the two of us. You're right, though, my employer frowns on writing rubber checks more than other employers. And knows about it faster." Shannon hadn't meant that at all. The Jensens had always treated her fairly. She trusted Amy's father, Mrs. Jensen's concerned husband, the guy who waited in the car until she was inside her door, not the bank teller. Mrs. Jensen came out. "I was only able to express half a bottle this afternoon. She's going through a growth spurt. Even so, she should sleep a good long time, but you won't be so lucky after the next feeding. Call me when it's done. We're going to be at a family party, and they know I'll need to come home." Theresa Jensen had bottle-fed her first child. More bottle- fed babies developed asthma, and she knew -- whatever Dr. Wyatt said -- that this was the cause of Amy's illness. That wasn't going to happen to Peggy, and she actually found the nursing restful sometimes. On the other hand, having people see it, even talking about it, made her feel like a cow. Her sister-in-law, Sandra, had fed her baby in front of the whole world, or at least family of both sexes; Theresa hid from Shannon, and was bothered by having Shannon's boyfriend even in the house while she did it. Anyway, it was time. "I'm ready, Bill; let's go." "I thought that you were going out tonight," Rachel Anderson said to Steve. It was not that she didn't enjoy the company of her son, not that she wasn't pleased to see him studying this early in the evening. It was just that she felt safer talking to Roger when she was certain that Steve wouldn't impulsively pick up the phone. "Shannon is babysitting. The Jensens said they don't mind me coming over, but they don't want me to until after they leave. Honest!" Sounded kinda weird to him, but it was true. Rachel didn't worry about that. Steve was perfectly capable of making up a plausible story; implausible ones were likely to be true. "Is she breast feeding?" "Shannon said something about that, but she leaves bottles in the fridge." "You make formula as you go. Must be her first child." "No, the second. I told you about Amy. Peggy's the baby sister." "Strange. I was rather shy about Mallory at first; but by the time you came along, I'd whip it out in front of anybody." She almost laughed aloud at Steve's evident discomfiture. At the time, he'd been quite in favor. "Anyway, you're a guest in their house. If it bothers her that you are there, you leave immediately. Is that clear?" "Sure." "I'm serious about that. We let you run about at all hours...." "That's the deal. I keep my grades up. So long as the results are satisfactory, you don't decide the methods." "But you have to do what we say. And I won't have a son of mine embarrassing some lady generous enough to let him visit her babysitter. I'll tell you this, I never let a babysitter have guests in my house." Although at least one had. Which, after all, might have persuaded this woman. She knew Steve's name, knew where he lived. "It's Shannon. People trust her, and with good reason." At this testimonial, the phone rang. Steve got the phone before the second ring. "Anderson residence. Steven Anderson at your service." Damn it! He'd forgotten the 'Esquire.' "Steve?" It didn't sound like Shannon at all, but he had been so sure that it was. "This is Heather. What did you mean about asking for suggestions?" It took him a minute to figure out the context. "Ken has some idea. What I meant was that you could ask him about it. He was really impressed with your art. Last time I saw him that excited, genuinely excited, was about Abelian groups." "More exciting than a beel-whatever group. What every girl wants to hear." "Well, I think you're more exciting than Abelian groups. I wouldn't even mind Shannon's hearing that. But Ken's thinking that you are more exciting than Abelian groups is a whole different story. It was really your Cupid. He kept saying that it was art. Anyway, your Cupid gave him an idea. Listen to it; Ken's ideas are always worth listening to. "On the other hand," he continued, "what the motion said was that you could get suggestions from anyone you chose. It didn't say that you would follow Ken's suggestions." Ken's ideas were always worth hearing; they weren't always worth following. He'd been to the principal's office twice learning that -- to say nothing of the tee-shirt that they'd tried to make into guncotton. "You guys go back a long ways, don't you?... I'll give him a call." The phone rang again almost immediately. "Yo?" "Steve? This is Shannon. You can come over now if you want." "Quarter hour." But he made it to the Jensens' doorstep in just about ten minutes. "Your phone was busy" was Shannon's greeting. He kissed her briefly. His coat was in his way. "I was talking to another woman," he said as he stripped off his outerwear, including his shoes. "Talking to her about Eros, telling her that she was hotter than an Abelian group." "Am I supposed to be jealous?" "It wouldn't hurt." "All right," she said. "I'm too jealous to kiss you. And I won't give you my news." "It was Heather whatsername, the junior. Eros is another name for Cupid, and we mostly talked about Ken. Your news can wait." She held up her hand. "What about saying she was so hot?" "I told Heather that Ken got as excited about her Cupid as he'd gotten over anything since Abelian groups. Those are math thingies which Ken explained to me several times. It didn't take. She didn't think it was much of a compliment. We joked about that. I'm sorry I mentioned it. Now can I have my kiss?" She figured that his face would have warmed up a little bit, and he might have learned that making her jealous didn't pay. Anyway, it was time that she got a kiss. This kiss was for real. Her mouth opened for his tongue, and her breasts were soft against his chest. Her butt was firm under his hands, and then softened as she leaned against him. He turned her in his arms. He kissed the backs of her ears while lifting her soft breasts. "My news is that Ken says he really owes you one," he said. "What's your news?" He brushed his fingers over her nipples, hardening below in response to their hardening. "I talked to Dad about budgets. It's too complicated for words, but they don't seem to want to cut out all my pleasures. They put in everything, and then money for 'incidentals.' I thought that they would cut me way back." This was an odd way of talking, but rather pleasant. Steve talked into the back of her head -- she could feel his breath blow her hair -- and then kissed her ear while she spoke. "I can't think of anything which hadn't been already counted in the budget." "How about buying coffee and pie to share a table with your boyfriend?" It wasn't the best position for thinking, but she went through the budget categories. "You might be right! Anyway, Dad said something about your being welcome for another study date. He said that on Sunday." "Not instead of dancing, I hope." He pulled her back against him. They really should do dances this way, with him holding her front instead of her back. "Speaking of which, might I have the pleasure of your company at the dance this coming Friday?" "Well, you can have my company. The pleasure is your own decision." "Having you in my arms is always a pleasure." He touched his finger to her face. "Still too cold?" "Yes. Why don't you wash your hands?" They kissed good bye to compensate for the two-minute separation. Her hands went to the buttons on her shirt. "Don't unbutton it," he said. He came out with his own shirt unbuttoned, though, and with his undershirt in his hands. He opened his backpack on the table, stashed the undershirt in a plastic bag in the pack, and took the opportunity to spread out the evidence of his studying. He took her hand in his warm one and kissed the inside of her wrist. From there, he trailed kisses up to the inside of her elbow. She shivered. It was ticklish and a bit sexy, not like when he teased her breasts, but a little bit sexy nevertheless. "Why do you do that?" she asked. "You are sexy, sexy all over. I just decided that I was missing out on parts of you." He kissed her mouth, then the bridge of her nose. "Do you mind? Does it bother you?" "It bothers me, but not in a bad way." She felt his tug on her shoulder like a dance signal; she followed as she would a dance signal until her back was snuggled against him. He cupped her breasts again, then began to unbutton the shirt. He kissed her right ear. "Isn't that why you kiss me?" she asked. "Like that especially? To bother me?" "Only half the reason. I enjoy kissing you. I've seen you kiss the kids. Are you trying to turn Amy on? Peggy?" "She's just so cute," she said. It was different, but she couldn't say how. Steve was holding her breasts in his hands, now. It wasn't a time for deep thinking. "And so are you." He spun her to his front again. Carefully spreading each shirt, he pulled her against him for a long kiss with her breasts pressed into his hairy chest. She was conscious of that touch, of his tongue exploring her mouth, of his hands squeezing her hips. Last, but quite strongly, she was conscious of his hardness pressing into her stomach. Finally, he broke the kiss to grab her head with both hands; he kissed her on her forehead. "You are a sexy woman," he said. "You look like a woman; you feel like a woman; but, somehow, you are just the way those babies are." Needing protection, he meant, something like that. Bridge had been Theresa's life once, she and Bill had been cut-throat partners for the bank's bridge team before they had any real dates. There were two bridge tables at the party, and a couple of Jensens yielded their seats gladly to Bill and Theresa. They were playing Jerry and Michelle (Mike) Foster who had taken a little too much pleasure in their edge in skill, or -- perhaps -- been just a little too open about that pleasure. "I may have to leave early," Theresa said. "If the babysitter calls, I'll just go." "You don't have to do that for us," Jerry said. "When you've lost your limit, just tell us. We'll let you go." Bill looked at Theresa. She nodded. They weren't going to say anything; their entire response would involve the play. "Lie facedown," Steve said when they reached he sofa. First, he scratched her back. Then he moved down. With one arm across her hips and the other across her lower calves, he kissed the inside of her knees -- first a little suction on the right, then a tickling lick on the left. She kicked a little against his grip. The feeling was somehow sexy, and she didn't fight hard. When he started kissing up the inside of her thigh, though, it felt much too sexy suddenly. The arousal was all wrong, and she turned over. He didn't resist much. He brushed her hair off her forehead and kissed her there. He kissed the bridge of her nose. Then he settled into a nice long kiss, tongues playing with tongues while he cuddled her breasts with his hand, first one then the other. "What's with this business of kissing everywhere, anyway?" she asked. Now this, her left breast in his hand, his thumb brushing the nipple occasionally, turned her on. But that was a comfortable feeling. She could hardly remember when it had been almost as disturbing as the kiss on her knee was now. He shifted so that he could hold one breast in each hand, then kissed her nipple in promise. "Well, really, you started it. I used to imagine making love to you; but it was sort of the highlights, if you know what I mean. I wanted you; you wanted me; I would go inside you. And then all I imagined was moving back and forth until I came -- which was usually damn soon." Was he really discussing masturbation details with Shannon? Well, after all, she had -- in a fashion -- been there. He glanced at her face. She looked interested, rather than disgusted. "Anyway," he continued, "you got off on this kick of being virgin on your wedding night." "Wedding day," she corrected. All this emphasis on the wedding night was Steve's. Not that his version wasn't sexier. Really, that decision, while she was still determined to keep it, had seemed the opposite of sexy. Steve, however, had turned it into an erotic dream. "Were you really planning to have a quickie before the reception?" he asked. She hissed and moved his hands away from her breasts. "If not, you were planning to be a virgin on your wedding night." He put his hands back where they belonged. She didn't resist. He kissed each nipple until it hardened. "Anyway, you started me thinking about the wedding night -- and our first time. Starting at the sex doesn't really work. 'Shannon wants me, too,' isn't really enough. So I started picturing taking that white stuff off you, and kissing what I uncovered, and other stuff. You have rules, and I follow them. Well, I want our first time to be slow, and private; and I want to hold you to me and kiss you again afterwards." He went back to kissing her breasts. His hand brushed her skirt down, and then up. "And I want to see all of you," he said. Wayne Bryant shook the last of the can of diet ginger ale over his glass. It wasn't enough mixer for another drink. "Do you really need another drink, Wayne?" Allison said. He mixed them weak, but the whiskey bottle had dropped more than an inch that night. "Well, if I had someone in my lap, I wouldn't be able to get to the kitchen? Now, would I?" She came over to sit on his lap. She was an old married woman, for heaven's sake. "You are an insatiable letch." "You, on the other hand, are a sexy blonde." He shifted her weight and cuddled her by her arm, not even touching her breast. They watched the next segment of the show like that. She muted the sound for the commercial. "I'm sorry that I screwed up your plan for Shannon's budget, it's just...." "It's just that it was totally over-complicated," he said. "I should have run it by you, I would have run it by you. But I mentioned it to Shannon first, and she asked for some time to think about it. I was going to run it by you when she first babysat next week. Who could have dreamed that she was actually thinking about it?" Sitting like this, he could feel her laugh all through his body. "Anyway," he continued, "the reason she needs a budget is next year, and I was right. But the time to learn to budget is this year, and you were right. Shannon got to see her father make a blunder, but it's not as if that was a shock to her. She thinks it happens even more often than it does." That earned him a kiss on the forehead. She got up after that kiss, but still the cuddle was well worth the lost drink. He shouldn't drink when Shannon was babysitting, anyway, any more than he should when she was on a date. Steve prolonged the milder making out as long as he could stand, but the thighs he stroked were drawing his hand towards their juncture. The breasts he kissed were drawing his lips toward their peaks. He kissed her on the mouth and drew his hand down her thigh as slowly as possible. When he reached her panties this time, he stayed there. His hand cupped her mound while his tongue licked the underside of hers again. When he abandoned her mouth for her nipple, his fingers began stroking her. Shannon had been feeling trembly for some time. Already warm under the sheer cloth of the panties, her groin heated when clasped in Steve's hand. The strokes there heated her whole body; the suction on her nipple pulled that heat upwards until her face was on fire. Her knees raised and spread, her belly tensed for what she knew was to come. Suddenly, the motions stopped. Shannon's position was too suggestive. Steve climbed between those spread legs. He kissed the other breast. "Hug my waist," he said. "Hug it with your legs." When she did put those lovely thighs around him, he moved forwards tentatively. With her legs pushed back by his body, he moved his groin back and forth across hers. He kissed her chin on the top of those strokes. The friction, even through the layers of denim, drove him closer and closer. She felt the position was totally awkward, then as she shifted her body and tightened her legs, totally natural. He was rubbing across her almost as excitingly as his hand had. But the idea was more exciting. They were, but for a few pieces of cloth, doing it. Close to coming in his pants, he had to stop. He climbed back, kissing thighs to right and left. Back in the kneeling position, he kissed her breast yet again. He sucked the nipple while his hand returned to her pantied mystery. Her responses made him think that his gymnastics had ruined her edge, which was understandable. A minute later, however, she was moving as sexily as ever. She felt herself burning and freezing. Feeling her belly tense against his arm, he began stroking her panties with the backs of his nails. The sensation made her gasp. He sucked harder and licked the top of her nipple. He inhaled half her breast, then let it pull out of his mouth, tightening on the nipple as it left. Fire burned her belly, the pain in the nipple only one spark of it. The fire pulsed, lifting and twisting her torso each time. He claimed her other nipple, sucking each time she gasped. His hand tried to ride her mound, abandoning regular strokes to respond to its motions. Her gasps became moans; her twists became shudders. She felt herself burn, convulse, and then collapse. When she lay still, he moved to cuddle her. Letting go of her panties, freeing her nipples, he curled over her with his head on her stomach a little below her breasts. From there he could hear her heart slow and her breathing even, She pushed his hand down below her waist, but there she held it. They lay like that for a timeless moment, until Peggy cried. She pushed him away. "Warm the bottle, won't you?" She'd had to teach him how to do that, but he was a help sometimes. By now, Peggy was telling the world that she hadn't simply turned over in her sleep. She was awake, hungry, almost certainly wet, and demanding to know what Shannon was going to do about it. Shannon fumbled with her shirt buttons -- they went the wrong way -- as she walked down the hall. All the strategic ones were buttoned by the time she reached the girls' room with its distinct coolness from the humidifier. Shannon found a pacifier clipped to Peggy's sleeper. Slipping it in, she laid her on the changing table. Working in the weird shadows cast by the night light, she opened the bottom snaps. Peggy was dirty as well as wet. She got most of it with the Pamper, most of the rest with a wipe. A second wipe cleaned Peggy right up, and then Shannon applied the lotion. "All I can find is an infant bottle," Steve said from the doorway. Mrs. Jensen had said something about expressing only half a bottle. "That's right. Use it." Dressed in the fresh Pamper, with her snaps all closed again, Peggy still had to wait for her meal. She wasn't used to that, and started to fuss immediately. Shannon got that response every time. She reinserted the pacifier and cuddled Peggy in her arms. Here, having Steve handle the warming was a real help. She left the room in a sort of dance, turning around as she went. Amy's breathing showed that she had slept through her sister's noise, though Shannon didn't like the sound of it otherwise. Anyway, Peggy was distracted by the movement. Maybe she was just entertained. Shannon's breast was a bit tender where Peggy's head was pressed against it, though. Steve must have been rougher than she had noticed at the time. She missed a step, which was probably just a more complicated dance to Peggy. She handed the baby off to Steve, who held her against his shoulder and danced the same three-step he danced with Shannon. The milk in the bottle was neither too hot nor too cold against her arm. She took Peggy back, settled her down, took out the pacifier, and replaced it with the bottle. Now that things were being done right, Peggy settled down to her meal. The speed of her feeding, however, threatened trouble when the bottle was done before she was. "Well, gal," Shannon said, "you can be a demanding kid. Still and all, I'm glad you waited as long as you did." "Speak for yourself," said Steve. Poor guy, he'd been cuddling her when the siren went off. Probably expecting something for himself. "I was. Anyway, if you want to take a break in the bathroom, you may. We can keep ourselves entertained out here." She walked over to the chair which was most comfortable for this process. She eased herself down. Peggy kicked at the disturbance, but didn't let go of the bottle. The kick hurt Shannon's breast and reminded her. "By the way," she said, then paused to arrange her thoughts. "I think that you got too enthusiastic in your sucking back then. I'm a little sore." Steve winced. "I'm really sorry. I know better. I think I got carried away." "I'll forgive you. I was too excited at the time to notice." "Still I need to learn. I can hardly expect to be less excited when we do it for real." "You know," she said, "you talked about 'our wedding night' once." And she still remembered that. "Ever since, it's been 'when we do it for real.' Sometimes, it's 'our first time.' You don't take my desire for a white wedding seriously, do you?" "Quite seriously. And doing it for real is different from doing it for the first time. Remember I talked about doing it standing up -- maybe you kneeling. That's not for the first time, not by my plans anyway. Things are just more complicated. I don't want you getting mad at me." "Well," she said, "I have a feeding baby in my arms. You probably won't get me more content than this." Then, too, he'd done a lot for her contentment himself. "Well, I'm a boy and you're a girl." Which, she thought, was convenient, but hardly to the point. "We think about this sort of thing a little differently. I've talked about my dreams for our first time, and they are very real. But if you said, 'I'm ready. Let's do it on Mrs. Green's floor the next time I sit there,' I probably would agree." "Not going to happen," she said. "Good. Not that I thought that it would. Anyway, my dreams are negotiable. I really have only one requirement." "Birth control." "Well," he admitted, "I probably have several requirements: not without birth control, not on the auditorium stage during a pep rally, not lying naked on a snowbank in the middle of a blizzard. But those aren't real requirements; you want them too. My real requirement is that I have to have your.... Permission is the wrong word." "Permission is a fine word." "I want more. I want your enthusiasm. It's not enough that you let me. I want you to want me." She wasn't sure about this. He didn't have her permission ten minutes -- no it was closer to a half hour -- ago. She had really wanted him, though. "So," he continued, "as long as a white wedding is still your rule, we won't do anything until then. "And, much as I want you -- want you right now -- the marriage rule does have one positive from my side. Lots of girls don't enjoy their first time. If we sneak an air mattress up to the meadow this summer before dawn, if we undress each other and I kiss you all over in the dark, if you open yourself to me just as the sun is rising, if -- as I finally enter you and fill you..." "You've thought about this, haven't you?" "Of course, I've thought about this. I've dreamed about this. And, may I mention, several other versions including the wedding night. I love you, which definitely includes desiring you. Anyway, what happens if -- after all that -- you hurt horribly and get no joy whatever? Would you give me a second chance?" "I think so," she said. "After all, you don't sound like you're trying to hurt me." He'd sounded, indeed, like he was trying to be as romantic as possible. "Well," he said. "You would be a lot more likely to give me a second chance, and third and tenth chances, if we were married. You wouldn't really have anywhere else to sleep, really." "Well, keep that in mind. They should have that in the wedding vows." "They do," he said. "'I, Shannon, take you, Steve, and give you a year's trial period to make intercourse as pleasurable as making out has become.'" "Is that a proposal? Because it sounds an awful lot like taking me for granted." "That's the other side of it. I can't imagine being married to anyone else. But, the thing is... I can't imagine being twenty-two either. Can you?" He sure couldn't imagine being a twenty-two year old virgin. He was aching to do it now. But he couldn't see doing it with another girl; Shannon would know, and she'd never forgive him. But he couldn't really see doing it with Shannon any time soon. "It's scary," she said. "Mommy!" Amy said. "I'm sick. I want my mommy." "We'll get your mommy," Shannon said. "She'll be home in a minute. But we need to get your medicine first." She rose and put Peggy in Steve's arms. She headed into the girls' room. Steve arranged Peggy in a more comfortable position and started to search the kitchen cupboards for a glass. A plastic monstrosity looked like it was intended for Amy; he filled it with water and showed it to her. "Is this your glass?" Amy nodded and reached for it. "Just a minute. Wait till Shannon comes back with the pill." Shannon brought back the pill and helped Amy get it down. She'd also brought back a blanket from Amy's bed. She took the girl on her lap and cuddled her for a minute. "Steve," she said. "Write down the time, please. On the pad by the phone. Then, Peggy's bouncy seat is next to her crib. Can you put her in it and bring her back here?" Steve did what she asked. He could hear the flat we-are-not- in-a-panic tone in Shannon's voice. The lack of affect was so different from her usual exaggeratedly lively tone when dealing with kids that he knew this was serious business. He put Peggy in her bouncy seat and the pacifier in Peggy's mouth. She didn't look like she was terribly pleased, but she didn't cry. At that point, not screaming was satisfactory; at that point not screaming was delightful. "Want me to call?" he asked. "Bring the phone here. Damn!" The Jensens' phone wasn't cordless. "Please. The phone number is by the phone. Something Foster. Ask for Bill or Theresa Jensen." She wrapped Amy in her arms and pulled the blanket around them both. He called and got a busy signal. "Busy," he said. He dialed it again, carefully making sure that each number he punched was correct. The result was the same. Shannon cuddled Amy for another minute while she thought about her options. Really, she trusted Steve. The responsibility was hers, however. Besides, Peggy still hadn't been burped. Watching Steve pat a baby's back as softly as he would pat her head was great entertainment, but it wasn't very effective. "Amy, honey, I have things to do so I can get your mommy to come home. Steve's going to hold you for a few minutes while I do those things." At the hint, Steve came over and lifted the blanket-wrapped bundle out of her arms. He sat down and cuddled her. "Teef?" Amy asked. "Yes honey," he said, "Teef." Amy was either content with that or tired from her illness. She lay quietly in Steve's arms. First Shannon checked the number on the pad to make sure that there wasn't any possible confusion. But each numeral had been drawn as distinctly as a bank teller could. Then she dialed the number again, punching it slowly and carefully. The result was still a busy signal. Then she burped Peggy. With Peggy wriggling in her arms, she pushed the redial button. Busy still. Peggy's car seat had a rod across it with a few interesting shapes attached. With the seat on the couch where she could see the others, with a pacifier in her mouth, with those toys to shove across the rod, Peggy should be content for fifteen or twenty minutes. By that time, her parents should be home -- how long could a phone conversation take, anyway? "Roger," Rachel asked when she was sure that she was connected to his room, "are you comfy? Do you want to heat the lotion in the sink?" "I'm saving up for tomorrow. How about you? Got your friend with you? Checked the batteries? Sure that Steve isn't going to get his ears burned? "Your son is out tom-catting around." "My son?" Roger asked. "How could *my* son engage in such lewd behavior?" "Heredity. Anyway, he tells me that they study together. Considering how much studying he does at home, they must. I don't ask him what else they do." "Good! I hope I've taught him that there are things a gentleman never talks about. We couldn't expect him to tell you and not tell his buddies." "You could have told him that there are things that a gentleman never *does*." "You mean like spread his lady-love's legs and lap all the liquid from between her lower lips? Do you mean that a gentleman never slips behind his sleeping woman and slides into her sluttish slot until she sluggishly awakes totally possessed? Are those things no gentleman would do?" "Who said that you were a gentleman?" "I rest on my elbows. A gentleman rests on his elbows. QED. Did I ever tell you that the other ending in Euclid was QEF? That means 'Quite Effectively Fucked.' You put it at the end when they ask for an erection." "There's a difference between a construction and an erection." "Who took Euclidian geometry anyway?" he asked. "You took that modern hodgepodge. In geometrical proofs, I can lick you with both hands tied behind my back." "Should I get rope for tomorrow?" "I don't even need the rope. I can lick your ear and throat until you're helpless with giggles. I can lick your nipples until your legs spread for me. I can lick up your thighs until you can't lie still. I can lick you open, and I will hardly have begun. I will lick you in the bedroom, I will lick you in the living room, I will lick you in the kitchen; and I will never surrender." "Promises, promises." But she took the magic wand in her hand and scrunched down further towards the foot of the bed. Roger did have a wicked tongue, and she wasn't thinking of his sexy talk over the phone. It had been forty minutes since the pill. Shannon pushed redial, and then carefully punched the numbers again. Neither process got through. She pushed down on the bouncy seat on her way across the room to uncover Amy, who didn't look one bit better. Could she have spit out the pill? No, the medicinal smell was still on her breath. Dr. Wyatt's number was on the pad, too. She dialed it. After three rings, she got: "Oomph?" And she had thought that Steve had bad telephone technique! "Dr. Wyatt?" She could have got anybody. "Speaking." "I'm babysitting for Amy Jensen. Your patient and she has asthma. I already gave her a pill, but she doesn't look any better." "Just a moment." There was a pause that she thought longer than could fairly be called a moment, but the doctor's voice was stronger when she heard it next. "The patient is?" "Amy Jensen?" "You are?" "Shannon Bryant. I'm the babysitter." "Yes, Shannon, used to be a patient of mine didn't you?" "Yes. Maybe five years ago. I'm nearly eighteen now." "Good. Now. have you called the parents? Theresa and William?" "They left a number. It's busy. I gave Amy a pill forty minutes ago, called them maybe five minutes after. They haven't answered yet." "All right, I want you to describe what Amy looks like." Shannon gave him the description. "How is her color?" "Just a minute." Shannon turned on another light and uncovered Amy again. "Does she look pale to you?" she asked Steve. "Awfully. But I don't often see her in a good light." What he had seen, as often as not, was a lump on the bed in the dark. "Well, she looks awfully pale to me." Shannon walked back to the phone. "She looks awfully pale." "This is what we are going to do. You get her to the hospital. First, you get her dressed or wrapped up for the cold; then you give her a second pill; then you drive her to the hospital. Even if she looks better, take her to the hospital. I'll call ahead and come in as soon as I can get myself dressed and my car started. Get myself started, too. Be sure to tell them that you have given her two pills within the hour. Tell them that I'm on my way and that I'm admitting her. Take her to the emergency room. Nothing else is open. Bring the pill bottle with you." "They have an old bottle by the phone. Empty. Will that do?" "Excellent. Leave a note for the Jensens if you have to, but call them just before you leave." "How," she asked Steve as she hung up, "are we going to get Amy to the hospital?" She picked up Amy still in the blanket. "Come on, honey. We have to get you dressed warmly." "I'll get the car," Steve said. He started by putting on his shoes. Peggy complained, and he stuck the pacifier back in her mouth. He sat where he could bounce the seat with one foot while putting a shoe on the other one. "We're in a hurry," Shannon said. Her voice started to show a little bit of the fear that she had hidden so well. "I'll call Mom. That will get the car here." He dialed his own phone.
"I love you, Rachel. Always" [Ticktickticktick-tick] "you, always will love you. I love your taste; I love your touch; I love your luscious" [Ticktickticktick-tick] "love your brave little clit -- always ready to meet my tongue. I love the sound of your voice and the smell" [Ticktickticktick-tick] "and the smell of your juice and the clutch of your cunt." [Ticktickticktick-tick] "Damn it to hell!" she said "Didn't turn off call waiting? Want to answer?" "I" [Ticktickticktick-tick] "can't." Tell me!" "That's me in there. Clutch me. Hug the" [Ticktickticktick- tick] "vibrator as you hug my rod. Come, Rachel. Come for me. Let me hear you come." And he heard her. He heard her come despite the damn clicking, and he almost came himself. They each lay panting in their separate beds in their separate rooms in their separate towns while the God-damned caller finally gave up. If they couldn't be united by the narrow link of flesh, they were united by the much narrower link of copper. And by a breadth of spirit. Rachel, Roger thought, was sexier over the phone than most women were lying beside. He'd known her for nearly half their lifetimes, and Rachel could still amaze him twice an hour. "Yours?" she asked. "I'm saving up." "What is your schedule for tomorrow, anyway?" "Mom doesn't answer the phone," Steve said. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes if Gertrude is there." Probably it would be, he thought, Mom hadn't mentioned going anywhere. She was capable of ignoring the phone when she was showering, but she was also capable of driving off to buy something she'd just decided she needed. Hell! She might be visiting a friend for hours; tomorrow was her day off. "Fifteen minutes? Oh, Steve! Could you drive Mrs. Jensen's car? It's a Volkswagen." "I can drive anything. I can't hotwire a car, though." "There are two sets of keys on the nail by that door." He threw on a coat and looked at the keys. One set was labeled 'GM'; he took the other. The car was a VW Golf. It started right up. He adjusted the seat and left the engine running. Even the garage was damn cold. Back inside, he tossed his scarf around his neck and the pack on his shoulder. He'd finish dressing at the hospital. "There is a car seat. Do I put her in it?" "At four?" Shannon asked. "That's Peggy's. I'll get her in the car; you drive. I have to stay here." Peggy's screams emphasized her point. "You'll freeze out there. Give her to me before she overheats." "Here! Take this bottle; it's Amy's prescription." It wasn't worth fighting about who put Amy in the car. "Be sure to tell them that she had two pills. Promise me that! And that Dr. Wyatt is on his way." "I promise." He shoved the pill bottle into his coat pocket. "Dr. Wyatt. Two pills." "And take her to the emergency room." Shannon turned, still talking. "I want you to go with Steve, Amy. Momma will be there." Amy's screams matched Peggy's, and she held on with what seemed like ten hands. They peeled them off and got her -- dressed in the sleeper and a coat, and still wrapped in the blanket -- into Steve's arms. Shannon turned to Peggy, who -- she realized -- was in the draft from the door. As the garage was lit only from the door, she moved Peggy to her room rather than closing the door. The garage door rumbled, then rumbled again while she was changing Peggy. The Pamper wasn't that wet, but that was the only one of Peggy's problems that she could deal with at the moment. Leaving Peggy in the crib, she went to close the door. It was already closed, though the kitchen was freezing. She called the number once again. It was still busy. The cold kitchen wasn't the only reason that she was shivering, but she could put her bra and sweater back on -- pantyhose, too. Peggy was screaming, though, and she would deal with that problem first. The exhaust in the closed garage was just, Steve thought, what an asthmatic child didn't need. He carried her through it and inched open the right-hand door. He slung the backpack on the car's roof and managed to get every bit of Amy inside the car. He raised the garage door manually on his way back. The wind was much colder -- who'd have guessed that a tee-shirt helped that much? Able to see in the light from outside, he slammed the kitchen door. Once in the driver's seat, he slung the pack under Amy's feet. He figured out Amy's seat belt and slammed first her door and then his. "Steve's not real used to this car, Honey," he said as he backed out. "This may be a rough ride." He did find the automatic door closer, however, and they were on their way. "Considering the time we've taken already," he told her, "we don't need to speed." Though he was talking to himself, Amy seemed to settle down. He knew where he was in town, and where the hospital was. Choosing the streets was easy. Once you were approaching the hospital, the path to the emergency room was clearly marked. Weird that he hadn't noticed those markings driving this route on other days. "Dr. Wyatt is on his way," he recited. "Amy has already had two pills." Shannon had never needed anything from him before -- not really. He wasn't going to fuck this one up. Shannon remembered Mrs. Jensen's telling her that Peggy was going through a growth spurt. Peggy had been ignored, and she had been slung around from room to room and seat to seat. That had ruined her temper. She had also had only half a meal, ending an hour ago. She was quite hungry and telling the world. Shannon put a pacifier in Peggy's mouth and headed for her backpack to change. Peggy sucked twice, hard. When that didn't work, she spat the pacifier out and wailed again. Shannon picked her up and held the pacifier to her mouth. She spun around a few times and headed out of the room. Satisfied by the motion for the moment, Peggy started sucking again. Steve saw an ambulance ahead of him at the emergency-room entrance. He stopped well behind it, and went around to gather up Amy. Leaving the door on that side open, he carried her into the emergency room. People were rushing around; it took him a minute to see that other people were sitting around. If Amy didn't get treatment, if he joined the sitters, Shannon would never speak to him again. Besides, Amy was a sweet kid who trusted him. "Pardon me," he said to a nurse walking briskly across the room. "Kelly?" she asked without stopping. "No." She turned away and kept walking. He caught sight of the desk across the room. One of the men there looked at him when he got there. "Dr. Wyatt told me to bring Amy to the hospital. It's a serious case of asthma; she's four and a half; the doctor's on his way." The man grabbed a form and started asking questions. Steve couldn't answer half of them, and the guy repeated the insurance question twice. Then, when he told him that Amy had already had two pills, he didn't write it down. "Okay," the guy said. "Sit down over there." He turned to the woman behind Steve. Steve sat on the edge of one of the chairs. Emergency room, hell! he thought. All these people cared about was getting the name of the insurance company on their forms. As he warmed, he took the blanket off Amy. She slipped to the floor, and stood between his legs. Her color looked ghastly, but -- he finally realized -- so did everyone's in the lousy fluorescents. Bill Jensen glanced at his watch. It was after ten, and they had promised Shannon to get her back by eleven. On the other hand, Theresa hadn't enjoyed herself so much in a long time. You could see the worry lines melting off her face. Well, the drives weren't that long. He'd call for the last deal at ten- thirty. Theresa also thought that the silent phone was too good to be true. The breast pump had drained one side, and Peggy had drained the other just before they had come here. Now, her breasts were feeling comfortably full -- not painfully full, but as if she could meet any demands tonight. Hadn't she told the babysitter to call when Peggy's next feeding was finished? Well, it wouldn't be the first time that she had slept for hours. That just meant that she'd be real glad to see mommy. And then they picked up the next hand and dropped into serious card-player mode. It seemed to Steve that it had been hours, but the man who had been sitting on his right when he sat down was still sitting there when a nurse came out and called "Jensen?" There was a scream of sirens outside. "Amy Jensen?" she continued. "Here!" Steve called. He had to change his grip on Amy before he could stand up. He left the blanket on the seat. "Amy has asthma," he told the nurse when they met in the middle of the floor. He heard a crash, and a gurney came rushing in the door; the nurse motioned him back. It was followed by another crash, and another gurney sweeping by them. "Amy has asthma; she's had a bad attack and we gave her two pills. Doctor Wyatt told us to bring her in; he's coming here. We gave her two pills." "Two pills of what?" He pulled the bottle from his coat pocket. When he tried to read the name of the medicine, she plucked the bottle out of his hand. "Who's the fucking idiot with the Golf blocking the drive?" someone shouted from the door. Steve jumped. "Come with me, sweetheart." The nurse held out her arms to Amy. Amy, who had complained so about coming with him, clung to him with both arms. "No," she said. "Teef." Despite her crying, Steve and the nurse peeled her arms off him. "Who has the Golf?" The speaker was an ambulance driver. "I've called for a tow." "I'm moving it," Steve told him while zipping his coat back up. He grabbed the blanket. "It was an emergency after all." "Don't give me 'an emergency,' punk. You're blocking real emergencies. You never should have parked it there...." He grabbed Steve's arm. "Do you want me to move it?" Steve asked in a level voice, but one clearly audible by half those waiting. "Or do you want to tell me what a bad boy I am?" The guy had missed his calling as a monitor in a high-school lunchroom. It was bitterly cold outside. Two ambulances were in front of the little Golf. Before Steve could get the passenger door closed, the rear one pulled out and passed the front one without effort. So much for blocking the drive with a tiny VW. He'd left the car running, and the gas was a little low. He'd worry about that later. "Mrs. Jensen?" Shannon asked when the phone rang. "This is Dr. Wyatt. To whom am I speaking.?" "This is the Jensen's home. I'm Shannon Bryant, the babysitter." "Yes, Shannon. I was afraid that you wouldn't be able to get Amy to the hospital. Do you want me to call the ambulance? They'll come when I ask." He would guarantee payment, he meant. And they knew that he was quite capable of filing charges if one of his little patients was badly served. "My boyfriend was here. He drove Amy to the hospital. I haven't heard from him. Not Mrs. Jensen either." Peggy squirmed in her arms, turning so that her head bumped against one of her breasts. Peggy knew what that was. Ignoring the flannel, she latched on and sucked as hard as she could. Shannon gasped. Dr. Wyatt figured that the gasp was Shannon's realizing that she had told him that she'd entertained a boyfriend while babysitting. "Don't worry," he said. If the Jensens complained, he'd read them the riot act. Not that he expected them to complain, though. The person who got Amy to the hospital when she needed to get there was Mrs. Jensen's dear friend. "I'm leaving for the hospital now. If you hear from the Jensens, tell them to meet me there." It was all very well to tell her not to worry, Shannon thought. She could trust Amy to Dr. Wyatt, but she had already trusted her to Steve soon after they drove away. All she had time to worry about now, was Peggy. And Mrs. Jensen meeting the doctor at the hospital made that worse. She pulled Peggy off her breast, shifted her in her arms, shoved the pacifier back in, and hit redial while holding it in. She'd never criticize Steve again. He hadn't sucked her breast one tenth as hard as Peggy had. The first entrance to a parking lot that Steve found required a hospital personnel ID to get in. Finally, though, he parked the car, tossed the blanket into the rear seat, grabbed his backpack, locked the doors properly, and got back to the emergency room. He was chilled to the bone. "Jensen," a guy in medical garb and a blue shower cap called out. "Where is Jensen?" "I brought the Jensen girl in," Steve told him. "Is something wrong?" "Why didn't you stay here? You shouldn't leave this location in case we have a question." The guy looked like he hadn't slept in the last day and hadn't shaven in three. "I was parking the car," Steve said. He wished the authorities around that place would make up their minds. "Well you shouldn't have. This prescription is more than a year out of date. If you gave her these pills, I have to find out whether the medicine loses its efficacy over time. Did you use a left-over bottle of medicine?" "The prescription is current. That bottle was kept by the phone so we could show it to you if we had to come to the hospital. Kept empty for a long time. We gave her two pills." "Yeah. We heard that. Anyway, stay here if there are more questions." He went through a door. Steve carried his pack into a bathroom. Just after he'd put his tee-shirt on, a cop came in to use the facilities. He got an odd look from the cop, and reddened a little. It was probably obvious what he'd been doing when Peggy interrupted them. Properly dressed, he used the facilities himself. He half-expected to find the guy looking for him with another question when he popped out, but nothing like that happened. He settled down. Too bad he hadn't anything in his backpack but a notebook and a couple of disks. At this point, his dullest textbook would have been a relief. But why was that cop giving him the fishy eye? Even if he would hate for Shannon's parents to know how far they had gone, he doubted that they had broken any laws. Kids caught making out in parked cars, screwing in parked cars for that matter, were merely sent home with a warning. And the guy didn't have any proof. So why was he looking at him like that? "Three hearts," Theresa bid. Hearts was Bill's suit; three would make game. Her tone would have counted as table talk in any club in the world; call it the marital convention -- Bill wasn't going to raise after that. The other couple hadn't anything to raise with. She dropped her singleton ace on the low-club lead, stacked her other suits so Bill could get to them, and headed for the phone. She wasn't really worried; her breasts weren't really overfull. This was just a precaution. She had actually dialed three digits before she got the receiver to her ear. It was howling like a banshee. She took a minute to recognize the sound of a fax. She replaced the receiver and looked for Sandra or Ted. She needed to tell them that she might have messed up an incoming fax. "Okay," asked young Bobby Foster from the hallway, "who blew my internet connection?" "How long," his father answered, "have you been on the modem after your mother asked you not to?" He strode into Bobby's room and knelt by the computer. "I'll get offline," said Bobby. "The program needs to be shut down in a regular order. Don't foul it up." Ted Foster unplugged the phone cord from the wall jack. "Take as long as you want closing down. But the next time I come in here, I'll probably want the power cord, too." He unplugged the other end from the computer. "Your Aunt Theresa and Uncle Bill needed the phone. If something happened to Baby Amy, you'll shave before you're online again." He went out to where Theresa was still holding the receiver in her hand. He pushed the buttons down in the cradle. "Give it a minute," he said, "to get a dial tone. Then make your call." The phone rang before he had finished speaking. Theresa handed the receiver to him. "Hello. Look, could you call back in fifteen minutes we have a situation here...." "No!" said Shannon. "This is an emergency." She held the phone out to Peggy and pulled her off her breast for the millionth time. Peggy screamed what an emergency it was. Shannon put in the pacifier and took the phone back. "Please let me speak to...." "Shannon," Theresa shouted into the phone, "hold on there. We'll be there in ten minutes." Her breast had started flowing at the cry of her baby. Bill put his hand down without even picking up the previous trick. "Play my hand, Sandy," he called. "Or somebody." he headed into Bobby's room to gather his coat and Theresa's. "Don't come here," Shannon said. "Amy's at the hospital. Steve took her in to the emergency room. Dr. Wyatt's meeting her there. Probably there by now. We do need you, but take care of Amy first." When Shannon heard the phone click from that end, she called her own home. "Bryants' home. Allison Bryant speaking." "Mom? This is Shannon. Listen, I'll be breaking curfew big time; but I have to. I'm at the Jensens'. Little Amy was taken to the hospital. Both parents are there; I'm here with baby Peggy. I don't know when they'll get home, and it might be even later that they can drive me home. This is really an emergency." "It certainly sounds like it. Do you want me there?" Did she ever. But she still hadn't been able to dress. And Steve might come back at any moment. "No, That's all right." "If they can't drive you home, and I can understand that, Dad will come and get you." "If it comes to that, Mom, I'll call again. I just wanted you to know that I hadn't been attacked by wolves. Ouch! Not that a hungry infant is much better." She hung up. Harry Stewart hadn't studied police science to ride in the right seat of a state-police cruiser and interview accident victims. The problem was that local police forces mostly paid even less than the state police. In this part of the state, the local forces didn't do all that much real police work, either. If his hands weren't tied, he could make some real arrests. But they were tied. Take that punk kid in the down jacket. He was guilty as hell. Every time that Harry looked at him he squirmed more. A simple search would find drugs and -- just maybe -- a weapon. But the courts would throw out any search, and he looked like the sort whose family could afford a lawyer. The courts kept themselves in business. If cops -- good cops like Harry -- couldn't search the obvious criminals, if punks like that could hang around hospitals until they made their deliveries, then the gangs never would be broken and the lawyers and judges would have jobs forever. Steve felt the cop's scrutiny once again. By now, he'd figured out the problem. It wasn't making out with Shannon. In the excitement and worry over Amy, the only question he and Shannon had asked was whether he was able to drive Mrs. Jensen's car. He'd looked at it like the cars of his father's guests on New Year's Eve. The difference was that Mrs. Jensen hadn't told him that he could drive it. She hadn't known that we would drive it, might not know even now. Any minute now, the cop would ask him how he had got there. Should he lie? There were probably fingerprints all over the car; people must have seen him get out of the car; there were certainly witnesses to his statement that he was driving the Golf. But the cop didn't ask him anything; all he did was stare at him all the time. Maybe he could drive it back to the Jensen's, but the guy had told him to stay here in case there were any more questions. And, if he did drive it back, he would have to face Shannon with the news that he had chickened out. "Steve?" It was Mrs. Jensen. "Are you Shannon's boyfriend?" "Yes. How's Amy? What's next?" "Can you tell me where the car is? Show me, I guess; I'll have to get you home, and Shannon home." She felt herself falling apart. She would not fall apart. She had to get the kids home; they'd done so much for Amy. She had to feed Peggy; her breasts were leaking as it was. Then she could fall apart. "They're keeping her in the hospital, but they think she's passed her crisis. I can't tell you how grateful I am. Bill's staying with her for a while." They went out the door. The cold was nothing compared to that cop's eyes. "Walk on my right," he said. "It'll block the wind a bit." She gave him a hard look, but walked on his right. He was still taking care of her, Theresa Jensen thought, shading him from the wind. Everyone had been so kind. "Can you drive?" she asked. "Sure. You don't mind my taking the car?" "For Amy?" Did he want to borrow it later. That would be a minor reward, but she needed it to visit the hospital tomorrow. "Well, that's what we thought -- Shannon and I -- and me. But that cop kept giving me the eye in there. And I remembered that I had taken your car without even asking. I don't know the law." "You will not suffer for taking Amy to the hospital." If the law said that he had to have permission at the start of the evening, he'd get permission dated the start of the evening. She was so grateful. "I still have to get you and Shannon home, but I have to feed Peggy first." Sandra had fed Bobby in front of everybody, probably including that awful Jerry. Steve had been so good, she couldn't send him away. Still, she felt like a cow. Steve remembered what his mom had said about not being present when he wasn't wanted. Not that he especially wanted to be present. Mrs. Jensen wasn't bad looking for an old lady; he wouldn't at all mind a peek at her breasts. Not with Peggy messing them up, however, and damn-well not with Shannon able to see his interest. Besides, it had been a long enough night already. "I can walk home. It's not far from here." For that matter, he was driving her car for the second time tonight. "Do you want me to drive Shannon home?" "Oh, could you?" After everything else he'd done for her. "Drive yourself home, too. Leave a message on the answering machine about the car." Bill could drive her to pick it up. Yeah, Steve thought, the gas is real low. He started to tell her, but thought better. She didn't look like much was sinking in right now. She was right, leave the message on the answering machine and she could deal with it in the morning. Mention the blanket then, too. They stopped in her driveway. "I'll send Shannon out when I can. Thank you so much. Leave the car running so you don't freeze." |
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