OCR Text |
Show Woodworth/137 of an unobtrusive guardian. Or a really good friend." He isn't thinking about the neighbor anymore. She shrugs loose from her shirt and bra, and stands. Comes toward him, and holds him against her. "She's my friend," she coos. "My good friend." She moves her hips against him, and he reaches back to undo her skirt. She steps back from him and undoes it herself, letting it drop. Then her underpants. She exists in his eyes, can see herself in his eyes. She drops back on the bed, bends one leg, and watches him as he undresses, as naturally as if he were in his own bedroom. Leaves his clothes jumbled on the floor and climbs over her. Propped above her, arms straight, he looks down over her body. For a second she is afraid that when his skin touches her, it will be dead cold. The lowering of his body will close her in, suffocate her. But it's warm and soft, a covering warmth, and her arms go up to hold it closer. She waits while his hands sweep up and down her body, his body rolls against hers, until she is caught in his^ApMMpanMMMtaB«p iBtttai currents. He lies against her, mmmm% This is when she can feel the transfusion happening, him sapping from her. Mary Gallagher holds Marty in her lap, rocks back and forth in her rocking chair. Mary Gallagher listened to the radio all the time when she was up here in her room, and Marty liked to listen, too, thinking that this radio is so old-fashioned, was actually bringing Marty news of her family, back in Ireland. She can feel Mary Gallagher's heart beating against her face. Mary was massaging her fingers, pushing back the cuticles. Her voice droned on, telling Marty about taking care of her fingernails, about keeping them cut short, and using a scrub brush to keep them clean, not anything sharp. Marty can feel ±Aag^ay down deep in Mary Gallagher's chest. |