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Show Moon - 87 "Babinsky reflex," he'd said, as if that explained everything. Afterwards, he'd spoken to James while she waited in the hall. James' face had looked dark when he came out, but he'd merely said. "Nothing to worry about, dear. You need a little rest, that's all." James came into the room carrying her afghan. "Look what I finally found," he said. "It was in the big steamer trunk." He laid the old crocheted robe across her chest, tucked it behind her. It smelled of mothballs. She stopped his hand with hers, held it tightly for a moment on her shoulder. She wanted to say, "You have, no matter what, become dear to me." But instead she rubbed her cheek against the back of his hand and then released him. The movement set her rocking a little. She heard him move to the kitchen, clink ice into a glass. She hoped her family would arrive soon, before he'd drunk too much. Then the warmth of the fire reached her face. She felt like a young girl blushing. David was stroking her hair. They were floating on a blue lake. He had just saved her from something terrible, drowning perhaps, and the fear was still on her. But his eyes, which were oddly blue like James's, were filled with love, and the sun was warm on her face, so she began to lose the terror, to allow herself to float easily on the water. "I've always loved you," he said. He kissed her, butting his face into her neck like a lamb with its mother. His fingers traced circles around her breasts, smaller and smaller until, dead center, her nipples exploded like red flowers and spilled stinging seeds into her blood. Electricity turned her feet into eyes. Then he was at her hair, his long fingers curling like whitecaps. She reached up to touch, then jerked awake with a great jarring sigh. She opened her eyes and saw her brother Michael standing over her, his hand |
