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From: cmndr@nym.alias.net.NOSPAM (Commander Jameson)
Subject: MKS-Day! "In/Out Law" by Michael K. Smith

From: mksmith@taproot.win.net (Michael Kalen Smith) 


                               IN/OUT LAW

    I'll admit it up front: My younger brother, David, and I
haven't gotten along since we were in junior high.  Since he's my
only sibling, I've often felt more like an only child. 
Nevertheless, when he got out of the service at the age of 22 and
was job-hunting here in Houston, Beth and I put him up for a couple
of weeks.  I suppose it allowed me to demonstrate my economic
superiority (an unworthy motive but mine own) and besides, our
sofa-bed wasn't *that* comfortable.

   A few days after David arrived, my wife's younger sister, Janet,
came down for an unexpected but welcome visit.  She was twenty and
still living under her parents' roof while she worked and attended
junior college -- but her folks often treated her like she was
still fifteen, and every so often she had to escape or risk popping
an artery.  I liked my sister-in- law and the two of us had always
gotten along well.  An air mattress and a sleeping bag on the other
side of our living room took care of her sleeping arrangements.

   Beth and I found out later that David and Janet apparently had
spent several nights sitting up late, talking.  They certainly hit
it off because they started dating and were married about a year
later.  I couldn't, for the life of me, understand what a nice,
sweet, smart girl like Janet saw in my oaf of a brother; as they
say, there's no accounting for tastes.

                              *  *  *  *  *

    Cut to (almost) the present, twelve years later: I've been
divorced for more than two years and Beth has moved to California,
"to find herself."  I'm also living in a smaller apartment, but at
least Texas doesn't have alimony -- and we never had kids (which I
regret) so there's no child support to pay.  David and Janet live
in Atlanta with their two daughters, ages eleven and nine.  He's
recently been promoted to regional manager for some kind of
government contracting firm; she seems to spend much of her time
looking for ways to keep constructively busy.

   I haven't seen my brother in years (and have no desire to), but
I keep in touch with Janet and my nieces, whom I unabashedly adore. 
Janet calls every few weeks, usually just to chat and to check on
my bachelor-ite well-being.  And Rachel, the eleven-year-old,
always clamors in the background to talk to her Uncle Mike.

   Rachel and her sister, Rebecca, both write me long letters, too,
filled with the latest news about school and their soccer teams,
and about the stupid boys who seem to be bothering them lately.  I
reply with my latest adventures as a consulting engineer, which
take me around the country frequently.

   

   I hadn't actually seen Janet or the girls in person since before
the divorce, so I was pleased when I was offered a two-week job in
Atlanta.  When I called Janet to see if I could take my nieces out
somewhere for an afternoon reunion, I found my brother (a light
colonel) would be doing his annual Army Reserve training that same
two weeks.  I immediately relaxed; I hadn't even realized until
that moment that I had tensed up at the prospect of having to deal
with David.

   "Why don't the three of us take *you* out on the town?" Janet
suggested.  "And the guest room is ready and waiting."

   "No, Janet, I wasn't inviting myself in!  I have an expense
account--"

   "Then use it to buy the girls mocha almond ice cream.  But I'm
going to be very annoyed at you if you stay at a hotel instead of
my house!  *Loudly* annoyed!"  She made a silly growling sound for
emphasis.

   "Okay, okay -- I give!" I laughed.

   "Damn right," she said.  "Besides -- seriously -- I've been
wishing I could talk to you about something.  It's not the kind of
thing I feel comfortable discussing over the phone."  Her tone had
sobered and I wondered what the problem was.  Well, she knew I'd
help her any way I could.

   

   Janet was right; staying with her and her daughters was much
nicer than a hotel, and a lot more fun.  I could tell it was going
to be a great visit when I wheeled the rental car into her driveway
that Sunday afternoon.  I had called from the airport to get
directions and to tell Janet when to expect me -- and she had
obviously told the girls, because both of them came pelting across
the lawn before I even had the car door open.

   Rachel had grown so tall in three years I almost couldn't
believe she was the same little girl.  Her long, billowing hair was
very light brown, lighter even than her golden tan, and so fine it
floated on the slightest breeze.  Her eyes were even bluer than her
mother's, a deep, reflective sapphire I hoped would stay with her
through adolescence.  I knew intuitively she was going to be
heartstoppingly beautiful in not too many more years.  Just now,
she was grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

   "Uncle Mike!" she squealed as I bent (though not far) to give
her a hug, and she locked her arms around my neck.  I got a large,
sloppy, lip-smacking kiss on the cheek, accompanied by a giggle.

   "Well, hello!" I replied.  "But what did you do with little
Rachel?  Last time I saw her, she was only about knee-high!"

   "I'm growing up," she insisted.  "I'm glad you could come see
us, Uncle Mike."  She hugged me again.

   "So am I, honey."  Why couldn't she have been *my* daughter? 
"And who's the gorgeous redhead?"  I indicated Rebecca, who was
standing shyly behind her sister.

   At six years old, the last time I had seen her, my younger neice
had been a mass of freckles and carrot-red curls.  Her body was now
beginning to sort itself out and it was obvious that she was going
to be dangerously cute by the time she was in high school.  She was
proportionately shorter than Rachel and her hair had turned a
deeper auburn with matching eyebrows.  Her eyes were iridescent
green and the freckles still scattered thickly across her nose and
cheekbones stood out sharply against her clear, porcelain
complexion.

   "Rebecca, do you remember me?"  I hunkered down to get
eye-to-eye with her.  She looked vaguely insulted.

   "Of course I do.  You gave me WINNIE THE POOH and THE HOUSE AT
POOH CORNER for Christmas.  I like Eeyore," she added with another
shy smile.  I was a little relieved at the postscript; I thought
for a moment I was being addressed by a small adult in a kid suit. 
This one was going to have beauty *and* brains.  Besides, I'm a
sucker for redheads.

   "I beg your pardon, Miss.  Do I still get a hug?"  I gave her my
most winning smile and was rewarded with a much more tidy kiss on
the other cheek.  Instead of flinging her arms around my neck,
Rebecca set her hands carefully on my shoulders.  Then she seemed
to realize that this ladylike approach didn't qualify as a "hug"
and clasped her hands at the back of my neck.  She gave me a grave
smile, friendly but solemn.  Her precocious self-possession was a
bit unsettling.  I hugged her anyway, just as I had her sister, and
stood as Janet caught up to her daughters and greeted me with a
dazzling smile.

   My first impression was that she had gotten younger in the past
few years.  She had never been anything but slim, though two
pregnancies had left her unavoidably thickened in places.  But now
she seemed as slender and as fresh as when she was twenty.  For
years, she had worn her hair short for convenience; now it hung in
waves to her shoulderblades, a shimmering chestnut brown in the
Georgia sun.

   She wore a shining white scoop-necked spandex body suit under an
old pair of jeans that hung on her hips as if they were a size too
large.  She was also rather red in the face; it appeared my
sister-in-law had taken up aerobics.

   We hugged and patted each other's backs, but when I went to kiss
her on the cheek she startled me by preemptively kissing me solidly
on the lips.  I enjoyed it, of course, but still,... it was
unexpected.

   Janet hooked her arm through mine as we walked up to the front
door.  I carried my duffel and the girls insisted on lugging my
suit carrier between them.  This was the first time I had seen
their house and I was impressed in spite of myself.  It was a
large, two-story place, four bedrooms at least, with a red tile
roof.  The lot was probably three- quarters of an acre, with lots
of trees.  There was a year-old Volvo station wagon in the drive,
presumably Janet's.  I hadn't realized David was so prosperous and
I had to struggle a bit to smother a twinge of envy.

   I looked sidelong at Janet's flushed profile and guessed she had
been in the midst of exercising when I arrived.  Whatever program
she was using to strip off her extra pounds had also firmed up her
muscles and flattened her stomach, and she had regained her trim
form.  Then she caught me looking at her and raised an eyebrow.

   "Okay, ya got me," I laughed.  "I was feasting my eyes, Janet --
you really look good."

   A few years ago, she would have blushed but now she looked
pleased and gave my arm a little squeeze.  None of these apparent
changes in her had come through in our telephone chats.  I wondered
what else had changed.

   

   Rachel and Rebecca installed me upstairs in the guest room, just
across the hall from the master bedroom; their rooms were at the
other end of the hall, which I imagined gave everyone a little
privacy.

   As Janet left me to unpack my stuff she said "Come over and
watch me finish my workout if you want.  If I stop in the middle,
I'll get more developed on one side than the other...."

   So I hung up my two sport coats and stepped across the hall. 
Janet had already shucked her jeans and was lying on her back in
front of the video player, ass in the air, doing bicycles with her
bare legs.  She obviously didn't want to bother with tights at
home.  Her long hair was spread in a puddle around her head and she
was puffing rhythmically like a Lamaze student.

   I sat down astride the chair at her dressing table and leaned on
my folded arms across the back to watch.  My sister-in-law has
never been the glamorous sort but I've always considered her very
pretty.  Watching her legs gleam with sweat as she pedaled her
imaginary upside-down bike, I had to admit she looked pretty sexy,
too, for an old lady in her early 30s.  And my eyes kept wandering
back to the snug crotch of her bodysuit, where I thought I saw a
few light brown hairs peeking out from beneath the spandex.

   When the woman on the video -- who wasn't even breathing hard,
I noticed -- quit the bicycle routine, the 'END OF SESSION' message
came on and Janet's lower body hit the carpet with a muffled thud. 
She was almost gasping and her face was bright red.  I became
concerned, hopped up from the chair, and went over to kneel beside
her sprawled body.

   "Hey -- are you okay?"  She tried to laugh and nodded her head. 
As her respiration slowed, I eased myself around to sit
crosslegged.  There was a hand towel on the floor nearby and I
picked it up and mopped her face and neck down to the edge of her
neckline.  She has rather small breasts with no significant
cleavage, so I decided I'd better stop where the material began.

   Janet smiled at me, still puffing a little, and raised her arm
for assistance.  I took it and helped her into a sitting position;
she locked her elbows and leaned back on her hands, her knees drawn
up neatly together.  The pose pushed her shoulders forward and made
her seem even younger, somehow.  I reached over and tucked her
errant hair behind her ears.

   "I get carried away and do more of that stuff than I should,"
she said, her voice almost normal.  "It seems so easy when you're
doing it -- but when you finally stop, you really pay for it...." 
She reached out absently and patted my arm.

   "Um, Janet,... you said there was something you wanted to talk
about...."

   Her expression shifted slightly and her face became more drawn. 
"Yes -- there is.  And I'm glad you're here, Mike.  But let me
figure out how to say what I want to say, okay?"

   "Of course; whenever you're ready, I'll be happy to listen.  And
to help, if I can."  That got me another squeeze on the arm.  And
then we were climbing to our feet, both of us unaccountably
embarrassed.

   

   We had a relaxed supper that first evening: Cold fried chicken
(the best way) with smashed potatoes (skins included) and peppery
cream gravy of the sort every true Southerner craves at least once
a week.  And, of course, huge glasses of iced tea, which Rachel
kept filled.

   Rachel, in fact, nearly monopolized the conversation, which
seemed to be okay with Rebecca.  Her mother started to scold her
but I insisted I wanted to hear everything she had to say.  Then I
looked pointedly at Rebecca and said tomorrow night's supper would
be *her* turn.  Janet covered a smile with her hand.

   The girls cleared the table afterward and loaded everything in
the dishwasher, then headed into the family room to watch TV. 
Janet and I nursed our iced tea and talked quietly about
inconsequential things.  I noticed that the subject of my brother
never entered the conversation, but I said nothing about it.

   And so to bed.

   

   The mattress in the guest room was newer and firmer than mine at
home and I stretched out in my boxer shorts with a comfortable
crackle in my joints and fell asleep within minutes.

   I'm a notoriously light sleeper, however.  If the noise of the
air conditioner changes pitch, I'll waken, quickly and completely. 
So, when my door opened silently an hour or two later, my internal
alarm system began prodding me to pay attention.  I opened one eye
halfway and saw a slender figure standing uncertainly in the gray
darkness just inside the door.  Then it started to leave again so
I whispered "Janet...?"

   She paused, then came back in and closed the door quietly behind
her.  She came and sat slowly on the side of my bed, near the foot. 
I could see now that she was wearing a short, crocheted nightgown. 
Her head was down, her face hidden by a curtain of hair, and her
hands clasped and unclasped in her lap.  I heard a sniffle.

   I slipped out from beneath the sheet and moved down to sit
silently beside her.  She seemed to shudder and I realized she had
been crying and was trying hard not to resume.  I wasn't sure what
to do, so I let my hand glide across the back of her shoulders and
squeezed her arm lightly.  Comfort and reassurance was all I could
offer so far.

   Janet raised her head and looked at me; the tear stains running
down her cheeks reflected what little light there was.  I wiped
them away with a forefinger -- and suddenly her face was buried in
my neck, her hands clutched at my back.  I felt her body shake with
stifled sobs.  I've never felt so helpless.

   I put my arms around her and stroked her head and simply held
her for a few minutes while she cried it out ... whatever "it" was. 
I also felt a bit awkward, sitting there in my underwear, holding
a very attractive woman in my arms, especially when I became aware
that nothing separated our bodies except the thin nightgown.  Each
time her breasts shifted, my attention focused on them.  I was
trying to help but my hormones kept getting in the way.

   Then she slowly sat up straight again and wiped her eyes and
nose.  She touched my cheek gently with her fingertips and smiled
her thanks.  And then she was up and gone.  The door shut behind
her and I lay down again and waited for sleep to return, but it
never did.

   

   Janet was cheerful and laughing at breakfast the next morning
and said nothing about her nocturnal visit, so I didn't either. 
But I'm afraid my clients got shortchanged that first day: I was
tired from lack of sleep and distracted by concern about my
sister-in-law.

   Rachel was at a friend's house for supper and videos that
evening, which put Rebecca on the spot.  She was bright,
thoughtful, polite, articulate when she had to be -- and very shy
when she was the center of attention.  At nine, she was at least as
knowledgeable as her older sister but she preferred to let Rachel
front for her.  Janet was an old hand at trying to get her youngest
to carry on a conversation (usually unsuccessfully) but, as a
guest, I was able to play on my niece's sense of duty as
co-hostess.

   It was a struggle at first, but I discovered that asking Rebecca
a direct question and letting it hang in the air forced her to
reply, just to fill the uncomfortable dead space.  I already knew
her abiding passion and ambitions centered on space exploration, so
I made a passing remark, painfully inaccurate, about the Mars
lander; after giving her engineer- uncle an odd look (shouldn't I
know this stuff?), she carefully corrected me.

   I put on a puzzled frown and asked a follow-up question.  She
replied.  Then she volunteered an opinion, which I agreed with --
and before she knew it, she was deep in an actual conversation. 
She really was a bright kid and, once the barrier was breached, a
delight to sit and talk with.

   When Rebecca finally ran down and went out to the kitchen for
ice cream, Janet got up from the table and moved around behind my
chair.  I leaned back and looked up to see what she was doing, and
she put her hands on my shoulders and kissed me on the forehead. 
Her long hair brushed my ears and left a tingle behind.

   "Mike, I can't believe you did that.  I've been trying to chip
away at that child for years.  You're the sweetest guy I know. 
Thank you," she added softly and kissed me again before going back
to her seat.  The spot on my forehead felt warm the rest of the
evening.

   Tired as I was, I was in no hurry to go to bed, nor was Janet. 
When her daughter had been tucked away, she came back into the
living room carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses.  I was
stretched out in a big armchair.  When she sat on the sofa and put
down the glasses, she smiled and crooked a finger, and I got up and
moved over next to her.

   She poured us each a glass and, without looking at me, said "I
don't know if I should apologize for last night,... but I
appreciate the use of your shoulder."

   "Anytime you need it," I replied, and picked up one of the
glasses.

   "Well, then," she continued, "I guess I shouldn't put this off
any longer."  She flicked a glance at my face and then studied her
own glass.

   "Things aren't going too well, Mike," she began in a low voice. 
She unconsciously touched her breast while she gathered her
thoughts and I felt a sudden jolt: My God, did she have breast
cancer?

   "Janet--  Is this something ... medical?"  Jesus, that would be
awful.  But she gave me a startled look and then, when she saw the
concern in my eyes, comprehension dawned.

   "What?  Oh--  Oh, no, Mike!  No, it's nothing like that.  God,
I'm healthy as a horse."  She touched my hand and I was greatly
relieved.

   "No.  This is, um--  This has to do with my husband."  Not
"David" or "your brother": It was "my husband."  I sat back and
waited.

   "He's..."  She cleared her throat and took a long sip of wine. 
"He's cheating on me.  With another woman.  She's a purchaser for
the Defense Department or something.  Can't be more than 25.  Very
attractive, the one time I saw her."  She took another long sip and
turned the glass round and round in her hands.

   Could I have heard her right?  My brother was a well-documented
jerk, smarmy and self-righteous, politically Neolithic, socially
obtuse -- and proud of all his shortcomings.  But I would never
have suspected something like this.  A terrific wife and two
fantastic kids; what could he be thinking of?

   "Well,..."  I had to respond somehow.  "I guess it would be
stupid to ask if you're sure about this.  Do you, uh, have any idea
how long it's been going on?"  Maybe it was just an idiot weekend
indiscretion, I thought.  Not really an "affair" at all, maybe.

   She looked up and stared at me unblinkingly.  "Almost two years. 
I found out about it when some mail was misdelivered.  And there
were a couple of strange phone messages.  So I started snooping
around and people told me things."  She didn't elaborate but I had
the impression from her tone that she could document every
infidelity that had occurred.

   I felt a pang of unaccountable guilt.  Like I was responsible,
just because he was my brother.  Like I should have smothered him
in his sleep when we were kids.

   "Bastard," I muttered, and took another sip of wine.  I didn't
mean for her to hear that but she did.  A sad smile blinked on and
off again.  I took a deep breath.

   "Janet, tell me what I can do."

   She seemed relieved.  Did she think I would defend my brother to
her?  Especially in something like this?  I wanted to hold her
hand, do *something* to reassure her of my loyalty, but she
appeared to have herself under tight control and I didn't want to
disturb that.  This wasn't like last night.

   "That's easy enough," she said, and tried unsuccessfully to
laugh.  "I have *no* idea what I should do now.  The *best* thing
to do, I mean.  I had to talk to somebody -- and for this, there's
really only you, Mike."

   I'm sure she meant it as a compliment but her apparent faith in
my advice was a little scary.  "Should I confront him with it?" she
continued.  "Pretend I don't know and just put up with it?  Demand
a divorce -- and then try to earn enough to support myself and the
girls?  Dammit, I don't know!"  Her mouth was trembling.

   "Janet, you already know about it so you can't pretend you
don't.  You'd crack eventually and say or do something, and that
might make it worse in the long run.  I'm not you; I can't tell you
what you should do."

   I was getting angrier the longer I thought about my brother's
treasonous behavior.  I couldn't sit still so I got up and paced to
the big fireplace and back.  "If you're worried about money, don't
be.  I do pretty well.  I don't make as much as my shithead
brother, obviously--"  I gestured at the big room around me. 
"--but it's more than enough."

   Without thinking, I went down on one knee so I could look my
sister- in-law in the eye.  I took her hand and held it tighter
than I meant to; she was regarding my agitation with some surprise.

   "I care about those girls," I said urgently.  "Janet, I *love*
those girls.  Anything you ever need for them, ask.  Anything *you*
ever need, ask."  That last was also unplanned, but I discovered as
I said it that I meant it.

   "When Beth and I got divorced, it was because we never should
have gotten married in the first place.  The decree said
'irreconcilable differences' and that's what it was.  Just a lot of
stuff that accumulated over too many years.  I flirted with women
I knew, but it was all in fun, and they knew it and I knew it; just
a game.  But I never, ever cheated on my wife.  I'm absolutely sure
she didn't cheat either," I admitted.  Janet was nodding her head
slowly.

   "Janet, divorce is no fun at all.  You saw us go through it. 
But in this kind of situation,..."  I suddenly noticed that my hand
was shaking and I carefully released her fingers and sat on the
sofa again.

   I took another deep breath and tried to sound calm and
objective.  "I still can't tell you what you should do.  But I
can't believe you want to go on living with him, sharing a bed with
him, knowing about this."

   Janet had already reached an inescapable decision, I think, but
hadn't wanted to face it.  Now she did and her control crumbled. 
She continued to look at me but her mouth twisted unhappily and the
tears ran in streams down her cheeks.  I felt awful.

   She made the smallest motion in my direction and I spread my
arms and gathered her in.  She clasped her hands under her chin and
sobbed softly, and I leaned back against the sofa and held her and
stroked her head.  I returned her forehead kiss and tried to
radiate support and love through my fingers.  It was like trying to
comfort a grief-stricken widow.

   Then Janet pushed her hands up and around my neck and put her
cheek against mine and I squeezed her body gently.  The tears
tapered off and she kissed my cheek.  And kissed it again. 
Somehow, we were nose-to-nose and staring into each other's eyes. 
I had to kiss her, I swear.

   She didn't protest or pull away.  Her arms tightened around my
neck and she kissed me back, hard.  It went on forever, I think. 
Thoughts crowded my mind that had never been there before ... or I
had avoided recognizing them.

   My shirt was coming unbuttoned under her fingers, so I
unbuttoned her blouse.  My shirt was off and I was unhooking her
bra, which quickly joined my shirt on the sofa.  We never broke the
kiss.

   My hands squeezed her breasts and one of us moaned, I don't know
who.  I had no idea where we were going with this unexpected
development but we were going there together.  I didn't want to
think about what I was doing; some more primitive need had fused my
mind to hers.

   We stretched out on the sofa and she moved up my body until her
lovely breasts filled my view.  I sucked in her pink nipples one at
a time and she wound her fingers in my hair.  We didn't speak, not
in words, but she encouraged me to continue, and I did.

   After awhile, we were kneeling on the floor and she was fumbling
with my belt, my zipper, pushing my trousers downward.  I
unfastened the side of her slacks.  Then we were both standing,
just long enough to discard the rest of our clothing.  And we were
back on the floor, lying on our sides, frantically grasping at each
other.

   I tried to move her onto her back, but she resisted and pushed
me back instead.  And moved quickly to straddle my hips.  I
understood, dimly, that Janet was asserting her decision to do this
thing with me.

   She lowered herself onto my quivering erection and I almost
shouted with the pure, undistilled pleasure her moist, capturing
warmth produced in me.  I clutched at her hips, tight and smooth
from exercise, and she pressed herself downward as far as she
could, eyes screwed tight.

   Then we began to move in the ancient rhythm, slowly, gasping as
nerve endings twanged, speeding up a little at a time, until her
hands were planted on either side of my head and her breasts were
jiggling against my collarbone.  My hands roamed over her flanks
and up her sides, mapping the geography of her surging body.

   When she came, it was with her eyes wide open, staring into mine
-- and I followed her within seconds.  Then she collapsed on top of
me and her sweat mixed with mine as we began another feverish kiss.

   

   Later, cuddled up on the sofa together -- more or less clothed,
in case Rebecca woke and came downstairs -- we didn't try to
explain or apologize.  We could only accept what had happened and
try to fit it into the equation.  Janet would file for divorce,
that much we both knew without it being discussed further.

   I stroked her cheek and wondered how I had missed recognizing my
feelings for this woman for so long.  "They say two people in a
crisis together are apt to fall in love," I said.  "A mutual
defense thing, or something."

   Janet smiled at me in a way I had never seen before.  "Does it
matter?"  No, I thought.  Not really.

                              *  *  *  *  *

    David at least had the good grace not to contest the divorce;
in fact, the decree was granted in absentia.  I never learned the
details, nor did I particularly want to know, but Janet told her
lawyer exactly what she knew and how she knew it.  Her lawyer told
his lawyer, and my brother apparently decided to protect his
career.

   Janet got custody of Rachel and Rebecca, of course, and took the
house and the Volvo as her share of the community property.  David
kept their extensive portfolio and volunteered a generous child
support.  The house was on the market within a month and sold
quickly, for a very nice sum.

   Mother and daughters moved to Houston, where I helped them find
a much less lavish but quite acceptable house out in Katy, which
had excellent schools.  Janet was able to put down nearly half the
total price and most of the rest of her capital went into trust for
the girls, for college.  A few weeks later, I gave up my apartment
and moved in with them.  Janet had gotten the mortgage payments
down so low that I had no trouble meeting them.

   We slept separately for awhile, mostly to let the girls adjust
to having me around all the time -- but we found ourselves drifting
into each other's beds so often it seemed a little pointless.

   It was easier for Rachel and Rebecca than we had anticipated,
but at least they had known me all their lives.  Even the last name
was the same.  I never pretended to be anything but their uncle and
their friend, and Janet explained very carefully why their father
wouldn't be living with them any longer.  It took a year and more,
but kids are adaptable and perceptive; they came to understand that
I loved them as much as their mother did.

   

   And now it will be even better: After fifteen months of waiting,
Janet and I will be married next week.  The second time for both of
us, a strange dance of relationships between two families, but it
feels absolutely right.  We've come to love each other a great
deal, and Janet has no more doubts about the depth of my feelings
for her girls than they have.

   I'm looking forward eagerly to the ceremony, even though we've
been living as husband and wife all this time; it's the formal,
legal recognition that I want, I guess.  Rachel and Rebecca, I'm
happy to say, are almost as excited about the nuptials as I am.

   I know it's unlikely that Janet will want to attempt to have
another child, hers and mine, but that's probably for the best at
this point in our lives.  I don't mind at all being a surrogate
father to two kids as terrific as our girls.  And it'll be great,
having a family I can love.

   

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright 1993 by Michael K. Smith. Copies may be made and posted
elsewhere for personal enjoyment, but all commercial rights are
reserved.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Michael Kalen Smith / Dallas, TX 
Internet: mksmith@taproot.win.net / CompuServe: 73177,366
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-- CJ
Remove the .NOSPAM in the address to mail me. No files by e-mail!
I don't write any stories. I'm just a reader, and sometimes a reposter.

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