I barely spoke to my wife, and never touched her. She, of course, noticed my coldness and inquired into my feelings and thoughts. I just smiled as war... as I could, then allowed her to kiss me. On the cheek. I avoided my daughter - every time I saw her I picture that pretty woman laying upon her bed naked and damn sexy. And, of course, the guilty pleasure I had received just from that sight alone. As for my son, I went out of my way to not see. And for some strange reason didn't blame him for. If the epoch had been later, a phone call would have been made and the wayward girl swiftly returned to her grandmother. But in the mid-90s a cell phone still looked more like a brick than a Star-Trek communicator and only bankers could afford to use them. In any case, there wouldn’t be reception in that particular spot for at least another decade. Lara whispered something in her ear and soon the girls were talking French, in rapid-fire staccato bursts interrupted by giggles. This was too fast. More

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