She could answer so much.Uh-oh… That’s new. Who the fuck is Ginger? I don’t even have to close my eyes to see her face, but when I think of he... it’s like remembering into the future. My thoughts hurt. I try to express them but absolutely nothing happens. It’s like my mind's eye is so bloodshot it’s agony to keep it open, and my voice has been kidnapped by conceptual dry mouth. A moment later my basic mental faculties return. They apologize for storming out on me like that and we agree to. Oddly, the way Uncle Bob and I treated each other didn’t change much. At least not “publicly,” which meant from the perspective of the others living in the house. Mom knew, of course, so maybe she saw the way I reached to touch Uncle Bob sometimes. It was just a touch, but she knew why that little touch was special. And the way they treated each other didn’t change much either, as far as I could see. She still regularly had that look that I now knew meant she was well and recently fucked. I saw. More

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