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Show m my f a t h e r ' s hou.se/359 He laughed again. "No, baby. You'll do the paying. For the rest of your l i f e , y o u ' l l be paying me. Even when you're with your old man - the guy you marry - i t ' l l be me you're thinkin' of, not him." I covered my ears and closed my eyes u n t i l the car stopped in front of the duplex. I reached for the handle and he grabbed my arm. "Ain't you even gonna k i s s me good night a f t e r I was so good to you?" I shuddered and froze. "Let me go. You're done with me. Just let me go." He released my arm. "You can go. But I'm not done with you. Not by a long shot, baby." I walked across the lawn and i n t o the house. I stood in the livingroom and stared. Why did everything look the same, as if to mock me - the sofa and chair in the same spot, the dim light in the hallway, the drapes drawn in a n t i c i p a t i on of my f a t h e r ' s return from a baby case, just as they had been when I l e f t early in the evening. Now my f a t h e r ' s car was in the driveway and he was i n bed with my mother, the two of them wrapped in the white flannel of t h e i r love. Should I go to him? I wondered. Tell him what had happened, ask what I should do? Perhaps I could knock on the door, f a l l across the bed and weep this heartache away, confessing, "I have been so wrong. I have gotten myself into t e r r i b l e trouble. I don't know how. But I am wrong, a l l wrong." 1 I I I ML. |