Strange Bedfellows

Disclaimer: The following is a mostly fictional account of the experiences of the author, his family and friends while he was a college student. None of the characters are intended to represent or reflect upon any real persons, either living or dead. The work contains sometimes graphic depictions of sexual activity between consenting adult men and other men, and between men and women. If it is illegal for you to possess or read such material in your locale, then please move on. This work is copyrighted, 2006, and may not be reproduced, reposted or published without the specific consent of the author.

Scott couldn't suppress the huge smile the instant he cracked open the door to their room. The sound of the TV told him the second half of the Packers game was just starting. Craig didn't normally snore, but the sound of Craig above the roar of the crowd at Lambeau Field told him that his roommate had had one hell of a night. He was glad.

He'd dozed through the first couple hours of the drive back to Madison, then offered to trade places with Marty in the driver's seat for the home stretch. Marty didn't think twice, but thanked him anyway for the sacrifice. They pulled over near Black River Falls. Scott bought a tall cup of coffee and they were off again. Neither Frank nor Jesse stirred in the back seat through the stop over and driver switch.

Two hours later, they had all the stuff unloaded, and Marty still had to hit the road for Rockford to return his Dad's company vehicle. Scott patted him on the shoulder. "Gonna stop and see your mom?"

Marty shrugged and started the van, then turned on the headlights. "Gonna call your dad?" Scott shrugged back and their eyes locked in a nonverbal `hang in there.' Each one nodded and Marty eased the vehicle into drive. "Prolly talk to you tomorrow." Then he slowly depressed the gas pedal.

Scott quietly dropped his bag on his bed, sat down at his desk and booted up the computer to check his e-mails. It was a quiet weekend, apparently. Nothing from his mom or dad, nothing from Kelly, nothing from any of the high school buddies with whom he regularly swapped stale political humor, dirty jokes or thoroughly recycled outrageous still photos and video clips. There were three messages from Walter, each one titled "Not Vital, Low Importance, No Rush, Relax For the Rest of the Weekend." A chuckle escaped through his nose, and he was quietly relieved, although he'd hoped for at least a short note from Kip regarding the Regents' meeting the previous Friday.

He turned up the volume just a bit to listen to the game with his eyes closed, from the safety and comfort of his bed, but he didn't turn on any lights. Craig snorted and stirred, then moaned and sighed. The arm that was dangling off the side of the bed slowly rose and dropped over his eyes. "Ooohhhhhhggggghhhhh! Holy fuck!" Craig had first boasted that his new job would require him to cover the local music venues' live shows, and then later complained that it would keep him in Madison during the weekend trip to the Twin Cities.

Scott turned onto his side and laughed. "Well, my boy, at least one of us survived the weekend. Good concert, eh?"

"What the hell time is it?" Craig's eyes were still closed, and he was smacking his lips in a gross demonstration of a bad case of cotton mouth.

"A little after two. What time you get in?"

"Dunno." He dozed off again for a few seconds, then shook his head and snorted again. "Huh? `Zat you Scott? Oh yeah, you're back." He took a deep breath and his hands gripped both edges of the mattress on either side of his hips. "Okay. Gonna sit up now."

"You gonna puke?"

Craig tried to take a full inventory of the anguish he was suffering, and deemed the stomach to still be intact. "Don' think so."

Scott put his own feet on the floor and grabbed the waste basket, just in case. Looking like a vampire rising from his coffin, Craig bent at the middle, eyes still closed, and his upper body slowly came off of the mattress. He paused and took another deep breath before moving his feet to his right and onto the carpeting below. Scott set down the trash can and went to the refrigerator. He grabbed a bottle of water and uncapped it. Craig's eyes were mostly open now and he reached out in a desperate bid for relief for his parched mouth and throat.

"Slow down!" Scott scolded him. "Pound that too fast, and it's comin' right back up." Craig held a mouthful between his extended cheeks and savored it as he nodded. Bit by bit, he let it wash over and past his gullet. Scott just stared at his roommate for another moment in disbelief. "Wow!" The amazement on his face gave way to amusement once again. "I don't think I've ever seen you..."

Craig held up a hand. "And you never will...ever again...not like this. Those fuckers are crazy!" Craig described an outstanding concert, followed by an invitation to join the band and their groupies at an outrageous party at some fairly upscale home on the west side of the city, followed by a cab ride back to the dorm that was paid for by somebody he didn't know and couldn't remember. He thought it was some time around 5:00, maybe 6:00 when he made his way back to the room, but he wasn't positive. He took another deep breath and rubbed both hands over his face several times, then coughed.

"So, how'd you guys do this weekend?"

Scott sat back on his bed, but only after opening two beers and handing one to his friend. "Drink it slowly, but don't stop with the water." Craig nodded his thanks. "Anyway, we had a great time!" He filled Craig in on the trip's details, to the extent that he could, and he felt better knowing that he hadn't entirely left his bunk mate in the dust doing nothing during the rest of the gang's road trip to the intersection of Debauchery Blvd. and Hedonism Ave. By the time he was finished with the high points, Craig was pretty alert again and was obviously going to live, though he was also obviously still in a great deal of pain. "This job's gonna kill you, isn't it?"

Craig's mild embarrassment shown through his sheepish grin. "Naaah. I know my limits...and knew I was stepping over them last night. Just didn't care too much...that's all. But I still gotta write the review. Luckily, I have a lot of sober notes and taped remarks I recorded before the party started. I ain't goin' on the wagon, but I ain't goin' there again, either."

They each sipped two more beers throughout the game's second half, commenting on the play calls, and looking ahead to the short holiday week. They both were planning to leave Wednesday afternoon or evening to go home for Thanksgiving, and each would be back late Sunday afternoon. Then, they would head into the home stretch of the first semester of their first year in college.

Craig stood up fully, for the first time since Scott had returned to the room, and he limped to the closet to grab a clean pair of boxers, sweat pants and a towel. "Gotta go scrub this grungy bod. If I'm remembering, I think some dude puked on my leg last night."

Scott laughed. "I wondered what that was. Why don't you close the closet door, too, and get the dirty laundry into the washer asap." Craig raised a hand in recognition and nodded. "When I get back."

Scott returned to the computer. Still no weekend messages, and he still thought that was a good thing. He didn't want to be bothered by the rest of his life tonight. He just wanted to chill with his roommate, maybe read some light `brain candy,' listen to some tunes and veg' out. But, first, he opened an e-mail screen.

"Kip,

"I'm interested in hearing how the Regents' meeting went on Friday. Please let me know what your schedule looks like this week. I know it's a short week, but if you have any free time, let me know. Maybe we can meet at the office, or get together for a cup of coffee so you can fill me in. Thanks.

"Scott"

The Packers were playing early, and the usual group of brothers had gathered in the house's lounge to watch the game, nurse their hangovers with a few beers, and compare exaggerated tales of their weekend exploits. Kip listened, laughed on key, but was otherwise unusually quiet. But nobody worked to draw him out. If Kip wanted the floor, he could take it. If he didn't want it, one didn't drag him into it. That was just how it was.

Kip was thinking of the weekend behind him, and then the week ahead. As the TV panned across the expanse of Lambeau Field, he rememberd that his older brother, and his wife of a year, were at the game. They were the guests of one of the senior partners of the Chicago law firm he'd recently joined. The coming Thursday, they'd drive up to Brookfield from their new, stylish, Dearbourne, Illinois home to give thanks for the opportunity to torment Kip.

Kip had graduated from their high school with a 3.91 average. Charles Monmouth, Jr., `Chas,' had finished the same program four years earlier with 4.0. Kip had become pledge chair of his exalted fraternity, as well as its representative on the Greek Council. Chas, had been the chapter president and had chaired the council. Kip had made his way to captain of a very competitive UW Crew team. Chas had also captained the team, but had led it to an NCAA Championship. Chas had graduated UW summa cum laude. Kip was sweating to maintain a 3.6. Christopher Monmouth, II had been on the verge of controlling the Wisconsin Student Association, something his older brother, Charles Monmouth, Jr. had never even considered, and Scott Turner, Jr. had stolen it all away from him.

Kip smirked at the designations. `All these junior's and roman numerals behind our names. We're a bunch of freaks.'

An hour after the game ended, Kip was laying flat on his bed with fingers locked together behind his head, staring at the ceiling and considering the possibilities. A gubernatorial appointment. Over forty-thousand students on just the Madison campus alone. He had no idea how many there were throughout the UW System's many campuses. The governor could call on any of them, but only one of them, and Andrew Pennington was ready to set it up for the governor to call on him. Kip Monmouth II, Regent of the University of Wisconsin. Appointed by the governor and confirmed by the State Senate.

The e-mail alert sounded from his computer monitor. He wrinkled his nose in dismay over the interruption, but hauled himself over to the desk anyway. He read the message from Scott, and sat back in his chair to mull it over. After a couple of minutes, he leaned forward and put his fingers on the keys.

"Scott,

"Very busy few days on this end. I'll look at the schedule, but I'm not holding out much hope for a face-to-face this week. In a nutshell, not a lot happened on Friday, though it was all very interesting." He grinned at the understatement. "But I haven't had a chance to type up any summary notes. If it looks like I can find an hour or so, I'll let you know. But let's not plan on it `til next after Turkey Day.

"Thanks,

"Kip"

He hit "Send" and returned to his bed, locking his fingers again behind his head. He sighed deeply and smiled, speaking to an empty room. "Yup! Kip Monmouth II, member of the Board of Regents. Appointed by the governor and confirmed by the State Senate. Chas couldn't touch that. "Snatch it away from Turner and stick it to Chas at the same time. Fucking jackpot!"

It was late Wednesday afternoon, and Scott knew his dad's office wasn't going to be open much longer. Daisy and her staff weren't going to stay late the evening before Thanksgiving. Well, she would, if he needed her, but there'd be no end to hearing about it. Scott drove down a narrow alley a half-block parallel to the main street and pulled in to park in the back lot. As stealthily as he could, he opened the back door and stepped inside, using his butt to slowly let the door close and buffer it's knock when it shut. He tip-toed up four carpeted steps and saw that his father's office door on the left was closed. That meant there was a client in there, or he was on the phone dealing with something both serious and sensitive.

Daisy was standing at one of the four long file cabinets against the main office's back wall, filing away the week's legal woes and muttering quietly about one client or another. She opened a folder, reviewed the cover page and shook her head. "Damn fool! Go and make a deal like that with the devil's best friend and what the hell you expect?" Scott leaned on the corner at the end of the hall and watched, bemused by her consistent scoldings. "Mmhm, mhm, mhm!" She shook her head as she reviewed another cover page of in a thick file that was destined to be temporarily buried. "You big dummy! Why the hell you wait so long to get Scott Turner to pull your coals outta the fire. Lord!"

Scott tiptoed further and quickly reached around her ample and comfy waist. Daisy jolted upright and she nearly threw a fist over her shoulder. But the timing, the physique she felt surrounding her, the smell and the soft humming of "I'll Fly Away" made her pause and gasp, and she broke out into an enormous, toothy smile. She looked at the ceiling. "Oh, Lord!" she offered. "Let this be my boy! Either that, or bring me home right now! Cuz, Father, if I ain't gonna see my Scotty soon, I just wanna curl up and die."

Scott squeezed her more firmly and laughed. "Oh, Daisy. Can you possibly know how I've missed you?"

Daisy shifted her weight enough to make him ease his grasp, and she turned full circle. Her face still beaming with delight, she pulled him in.

The side of her head rested on his collarbone and her hair tickled his nose. "There's my boy! But you gone and got so big!"

Scott chuckled. "Yeah, it's a shame, too. You know, I always loved it when I was just tall enough to be smothered in your chest when you'd hug me like this. Wish I'da stopped growing around the age of eight."

She cackled a laugh and lowered a hand from the middle of his back to smack him on the butt. "Always such a naughty boy, but I knew you loved getting lost in Daisy's business. Hope you been sayin' your prayers." She released him and looked up, still smiling warmly "'Cuz my prayers alone for the Almighty to watch over you and save your soul ain't never gonna be enough."

He perched his butt on the edge of the other secretary's vacant desk. "C'mon, Daisy we all know that you got the Big Guy on speed dial and that He answers all your pleas."

Her expression grew a bit more solemn. "How many times to I gotta tell you Scotty? God does indeed answer all prayers..." He joined her in finishing her statement of faith, in unison. "It's just that sometimes, the answer is No!"

He shook his head, unsure of how many dozens of times he'd heard that over the years. He glanced over his shoulder. "So Big Scott's in with a client, eh?" He decided to tread lightly. "Uhm...I don't suppose it's Maureen, is it?"

Daisy had resumed her filing. She shot a glance over her shoulder, brows bent in a question. "Who?"

"Maureen...McCarthy."

Daisy waved a dismissive hand. "Oh that woman?" Her voice was tinged with contempt. "Now why in Lord's name would your daddy take that woman on as a client? She got two good legal heads manning her office if she needs legal advice. Besides, ain't a good idea for friends to take on friends as clients. In this business, you need someone objective representing you." She emphasized the word objective. "Somebody without any emotional attachment or investment in you...somebody who won't mind telling you stuff you might not wanna hear. Besides, then there's billing and money involved, and nothing can dent and scratch up a friendship like money owed or money charged." She shook her head. "Uuh uuh! Your daddy ain't gonna take on a real good friend as a client in this office. He's too damned smart. And if he did, he sure wouldn't tell Daisy about it, `cuz he knows I'd be givin' him what for."

Scott was digesting her sage advice on proper practice in a proper law office. She waved a finger in his direction. "Besides, you know I can't go an' talk about who is and who isn't your daddy's client with anybody. Not even with my baby boy! And I don't even wanna know why you thought Mr. Turner would be givin' counsel to that woman, so pick a new topic, son."

Scott grinned. "Big plans for tomorrow?" He already knew the answer to that one.

"Same thing every year, you know. On the road by 4:00 a.m. so's I can be to the church in the Cities before six. I been making three pans of corn bread every night for a week. By tomorrow night, we'll have about a hundred fifty families fed and thankful, God bless `em."

"Hey! We were in Minneapolis for the football game last weekend. Drove not to far from your church, in fact."

"Your daddy said you was goin' with some of your college friends. You and the boys on a trip for the weekend..." she shook her head. "Whew! I hope you said a prayer at least once for all the sinnin' I'm sure was goin' on."

He wiggled his eyebrows as he lifted his butt off the desk. "Trust me, Daisy the name of the Father and of the Son were invoked a number of times throughout the weekend."

She swatted his butt with a file folder. "Takin' the names in vain, you lil' heathen! Daisy is gonna have to pray a whole lot for you tonight."

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Well, I gotta get home. Just had to come by and see my best girl.

She swatted his chest with the back of her hand. "Uuuhhh Uh!" She waved a finger as her head slid left and right over her shoulders. "You only got one bes' girl and that's your momma! Don' you be callin' me yo' bes' girl!"

Scott laughed and clapped his hands. "There you go again! Getting' all ethnic and stuff on me." She gave him a sheepish grin and he clapped again. "God! I love that shit!" He leaned within a few inches of her face and waved his own finger. "Now cut that out! Who you think you scarin', girlfriend!" He kissed her cheek, and wish her a happy and blessed Thanksgiving.

"And you too, honey! Don't be such a stranger now. Daisy worries about you down in the big city."

"I know...I know. Tell the old man I stopped in, and I'll see him at the house tonight.

Like so many others, Marty had decided to blow off Wednesday afternoon's classes and go home early for the holiday. The previous Sunday, when he'd returned the company truck to Rockford, it was later than he'd planned. He dropped off his dad's vehicle at the yard, and walked the five blocks back to where he'd hidden his car, then drove to his parents' house. Dad's vehicle was in the driveway, so he just drove back to Madison.

When he pulled in to his mom and dad's driveway on Wednesday, there wasn't a vehicle to be seen, but a light through the living room window told him somebody was home. He remembered that Michelle had told him her car was in the shop for some routine maintenance. Marty pulled his overnight bag out of the back seat and trod toward the door. He was anxious to see his mom, but four days back under his father's roof felt like a life sentence. Michelle Anderson, Shelly to most, was laying on the couch watching one of those entertainment gossip shows they called "magazines" for some reason. Somebody famous was cheating on her spouse with some other inexplicably famous person, who had a famous spouse of their own. Besides that news flash, another young, talentless blonde bimbo was rumored to be pregnant.

Shelly smiled when she heard steps on the porch, and she sat upright as the door slowly opened. Marty grinned broadly, dropped his bag in the doorway and opened his arms. "Mommy! Marty needs a hug."

Shelly giggled and bolted toward the light of her life. His arms wrapped around her shoulder blades and he held her firmly. She felt so slight, so frail in his grasp. But her kiss on the cheek and breath on his neck as he rocked her in his embrace was wonderful.

She wiggled from his grasp and looked up. "You're thin. We're going to put some meet on those bones this weekend." Shelly was a wonderful cook, and Marty made a quick mental list of all of his favorites.

"Have at it, girl! Hey," he looked around the house suspiciously. "Where's Dad?"

Shelly sighed and shrugged. "working late, again." The tone of every syllable said `he's out banging the whore from the office, again.'

Marty felt a mixture of relief that he wasn't around, and rage for his neglect of this lovely lady in front of him. "Grab your coat, it's a bit windy out there." Shelly looked back suspiciously. "Ma, I had a wonderful weekend. I hit it big at the casino in the Dells on Friday, and still have a few bucks left. I'm takin' you out for dinner tonight. The hell with the old man! You're goin' out on a date with the best-looking, most entertaining s.o.b. this side of Canada."

Shelly giggled. Marty had his dad's confidence and cocky attitude, but he got her good nature and generous disposition. It proved to be a delightful combination, and she'd always recognized his good fortune. "A girl would be crazy to turn down an offer like that one, now wouldn't she?" Her son winked. "And I ain't crazy." She stepped to the closet and grabbed her leather coat. "Where you takin' me, big boy?"

Marty licked his lips. "Got a hankerin' for Lundee's ribs and a couple of cold ones."

Shelly giggled again as he took the coat from her and held it open. She turned and slid her arms into the sleeves. "Should have known. You used to make such a mess of your face with those things as a kid." Marty knew she was going to go there, and knew the next line as well. "Did you know that once, when you were about four or five, we'd been to Lundee's on a Saturday, and the next day, I was getting you ready for church, and I found barbecue sauce inside your ear?"

Marty reached for the door and stood back to wave her through. "Geez, ma, you're kidding me! I've never heard that one." Sardonic wit dripped from every syllable. She lightly smacked his arm as she stepped out onto the porch. Marty hooked his arm in hers and, as they walked to his car, his lips curled into a smirk. He mused, `I wonder at what age you start repeating the same old story, every time thinking that you're sharing it for the first time?

"Jill will be with you in a few minutes to take care of you." Hal had owned and run Lundee's since his dad had passed on nearly ten years earlier.

"Good to see you again, Shelly. And, Marty! I can't believe this is really you!" He put a firm hand on the young man's shoulder. "Been waaaay too long, son. I'll have Charlie throw a rack on the grill."

Marty nodded and smirked. "Just one?"

Jill had started into her usual warm greeting spiel, and was moving on to the drink order when a `do I know you?' expression flashed across both their faces. Marty smiled and ordered a mug of Fat Tire and Shelly asked for a glass of Chiraz. Jill's eyes searched Marty's face for a second or two longer as she set down a basket of rolls and a couple of spreads.

Shelly laid her hands flat on the table and leaned over. "So! Tell me all about your weekend! I saw that the Badgers won, but did you boys have fun? I know...stupid question."

Marty tore apart a piece of sourdough and reached for the knife buried in the small bowl of ham spread. He told his mom everything...everything that he could tell his own mother. The drive up, the trip to the casino, the accommodations in the Foshay Suite, all the way down to the shape of the ashtrays and the shine on the marble. Uncle Sal, and the incredible Italian food and the very cool retired dentist and his wife who were at the restaurant. The look and feel and the view of the luxury box, the food and drink that were waiting when they arrived. The winning game and the tradition of The Axe. The trip to the Mall of America, including the aquarium in the basement of the shopping mecca. "All in all, an outstanding weekend all the way around, Mom. We had a gas!"

Shelly laughed and shook her head. "Good job! Sounds like a bunch of nuns who'd saved for years for a wild weekend away from the convent. Thanks for sparing me the rest of the details." She winked.

Marty blushed, but still rose to her challenge. "You really want to know all the rest?"

Shelly's hands came off the table in defense. Ohmygod No!! You're a twenty-one year old college student who was on the road with his buddies. A mother doesn't want or need to know the rest. You have some great friends and you're having some great times. You didn't get arrested, as far as I know, and you're back home in one piece. That's all this mom needs to know." Then, her eyes went skyward as if to make a mental note and she snickered. "Maybe some other time," and her eyebrows danced.

Marty blushed again, and he swore to himself that he loved her even more every time she opened her mouth at times like this. A mug of beer and a glass of wine broke their glance, and Jill apologized for the obvious intrusion. "Sorry, but are you folks ready to order?" Marty studied her face and her form again, as he asked for the full rack with slaw, hash browns and baked beans. He kept his eyes on Jill while Shelly asked politely for the grilled salmon filet and some other stuff that he didn't quite pay attention to.

She was...Marty scoured his vocabulary for the right word. She was...perky. That was it! A perky, five foot four with rich brown hair, cut short, and sparkling blue eyes. A very small frame with tight round hips and an unobtrusive but healthy set between her neck and ribcage. Her complexion was flawless and the candle light in the dining room made her skin glow and eyes dance. She wore just the right amount of a very alluring perfume that Marty immediately wished he knew the name of. Inside of sixty seconds, he'd seen her go from happy and gregarious to demure and shy, and it felt like there was something she wasn't saying to him.

Shelly studied her son, and had a full appraisal in a micro-second. She was the mom, after all, and she felt confident in what she was sure she saw. Jill was certainly attractive. Very attractive, indeed. A little older, perhaps, but not by much. She appeared happy and healthy, seemed to like her job, and she was paying as much attention to her son as he was to her. Shelly was amused by both of their glances, but was also a little curious. Still, she wasn't going to intrude, let alone push. One did not push Marty Anderson on such things, and Michelle Anderson knew it.

As soon as Jill was out of earshot, Marty's face grew serious, almost dark. "So." He took a drink of his beer. "Did you see Schacthner on Monday, like we said?"

David Schachtner was the attorney that Scotty's dad had recommended. Scotty had told him that Big Scott had described him as `tough, fair and easy to deal with...IF you were HIS client.'

Shelly took a sip and pursed her lips and her eyes wandered down to focus on some ill-defined spot on the tablecloth. "Yes," she sighed.

Marty leaned forward and his own eyes narrowed. "And...? So...how'd it go?"

"Good, I suppose. As good as something like that can go. I had a second meeting yesterday with one of his assistants, and...well, it was like I was telling my whole damned life story...I mean the story of the marriage, anyway, from beginning to...to now."

Marty frowned. "You do mean, `from beginning to end,' don't you? I mean, Mom! You are going to go through with this, aren't you? You sound a little like you're having second thoughts."

Shelly didn't say a word, just continued to stare at the tablecloth. Her eyes were welling with tears and her bottom lip trembled a bit. "Oh, Marty! Twenty-one years. Did I just waste twenty-one years?" Immediately, she realized how that might have sounded, and she was overcome with a mix of alarm and embarrassment. It showed on her shocked face. "Oh, no! You know I could never think that way about your coming into my world. You know that..."

A reassuring grin below soft and caring eyes calmed her frantic expression. He reached across the table and took her hand in his. "I know, Mommy. I know what you meant. I mean, I can't really and completely feel what you must be feeling right now, but I always know what you mean."

She didn't need to speak her thanks for his understanding and assurance.

Marty squeezed her hand again. "But, seriously, Mom. Do you want to resign yourself to another twenty-one years of his neglect, his verbal abuse, his `working late'? Picture a life without all the shit, just you and me and times like this with your favorite guy." He winked at her, and then grew serious again. He leaned in and spoke just above a whisper. "And, let's face it...it's ugly, I know, but we don't know that the bastard won't pull the plug on you first. Do you really believe he has another twenty-one years with you and me in his long-term plans?" Shelly had considered that, and both Schachtner and his assistant had driven home the same point.

"Excuse me, folks, but here we are." Jill could tell the conversation had grown serious, and was being careful to be as inconspicuous as possible.

They both leaned back in their chairs to give her room to set down the plates. Shelly had barely touched her wine, but Marty's mug was near empty.

"Another beer sir?"

He smiled and nodded as he admired the rack of ribs, then looked up. "Sure thing, but it's Marty."

Jill's face lit up as he confirmed her suspicion and her vague memory. "You got it, Marty. Be right back."

He unfolded the napkin and laid it on his thigh, then reached for a fork as a wry smile crept across his lips. "Besides, you're still a babe, you know. A lot of guys out there would love to hear that you're single again. They'll be lining up in no time, I bet." Shelly giggled at the thought. She'd mulled over a return to single life again with a mix of excitement and dread. "Time to suck it up, get through a little more shit with me sticking beside you, and get yourself a whole new life, but on your terms!"

"Here you go, Marty." Jill replaced the empty mug with a fresh cocktail napkin and an icy, foamy mug. "Anything else for you two?" Both shook their heads and Jill smiled. "Okay, then. Enjoy!" They thanked her as she hurried to attend to a three-year old who was tired of waiting for his burger basket and wanted some more crackers. Marty's eyes followed her across the dining room.

Again, Shelly noticed, and she couldn't help observing, "She is awfully cute."

Marty's eyes came back to his mother's and his brows spoke his agreement. "Very. She looks familiar to me somehow, but I just can't place it. And," he shrugged, "she's wearing a wedding ring."

Shelly's left thumb crept across the inside of her hand and found her own ring finger. She rubbed the bottom surface of the gold band and she wondered how strange it would feel when it was no longer there.

Marty dropped a rib bone, stripped of all flesh and licked clean of any trace of sauce, then wiped his lips. "So, what's next?"

The question brought Shelly's attention back to the table, and her fish. She cut into the filet, giving her time to think about it. "Well, Mr. Schachtner said it should be something of a surprise when I lower the boom. After all I'd told him, he's worried that Dad might try to hide some assets if he sees it coming, and we both think he'll me fight with all he's got. Of course, it'd be easier if I could absolutely prove that he's been messing around."

"You mean his subtle-as-a-rooster gloating it isn't good enough?"

"Well, if, or when, he denies it, then it's only `he said-she said.' Absolute proof would suck the wind out his sails from the get-go, and Mr. Schachtner said that usually brings the other spouse to a real desire to just get it all over with." She sighed again. "I just know that if I'd tried harder over time, catching him in the act wouldn't have been too difficult." She looked off into nowhere in particular, ruefully. "I have an avoidance mechanism that just won't quit. Not quite denial, actually, just a defense system that makes me shy from the ugly truth."

Marty dropped another bone onto the plate. "Well, enough of that now. Like I said, let's just bear down and know that it's gonna get worse before it gets better, then face it head on." He held out a hand once more and she took it. "'Cuz, Mom, when it finally gets better, it's gonna be a hell of a lot better, and you know that." Shelly tried to smile, but it wasn't quite working. Marty leaned in closer, "It's like I keep asking my buddy Scott: Hey, do ya' trust me?" He flashed his killer smile and winked. His mom giggled and she nodded shyly and thankfully.

Shelly shifted in her seat. "Okay, new topic! Is Scott the guy you helped get elected to the student government? He's Craig Bostwick's roommate, right? You've mentioned him a lot. Sounds like you two have grown thick as thieves."

Marty nodded as he swallowed a mouthful of beans. "Yeah...good shit, Scotty. Craig got lucky in the roomie department. Not that there's anything wrong with Brett."

Shelly rolled her eyes. "I always thought he was...you know...sort of...a little...`off'...kind of an oddball."

Marty nodded and a soft laugh escaped through his nose. "Yeah, but a lovable oddball, and a good roommate. We're all pretty tight, along with a couple of guys who live on Scott and Craig's floor. Jesse and Frank came with us up to the Cities. They're from Minnesota, and it was Frank's family that had all the connections to put the trip together."

"So what's this Scott's story?"

Marty leaned back and mulled over the question. He started slowly, thoughtfully. "Well...he's a really good guy. A bit full of himself at times, ya' know? Has a lot of talent and knows it, but he's still working out how to put it to good use without lording it over you. And, he needs to lighten up...a lot, although he usually has pretty good sense of humor. The guy's going to go places, I just know it! He's one of the smartest guys I know, or ever have known, and it sounds like he's taking the Poli-Sci department by storm." He thought for another few seconds as he liberated a couple more rib bones from their brothers. "And it's not like it's on purpose, I don't think...it's like he can't see it, but he needs to learn to keep his pride and image concerns in check. Takes himself too seriously a lot of the time. I mean, there is a natural leadership in there, I think, for as much as I know leadership, but people listen to Scott. And, the guy has...uhm...he has...I guess it's what they'd call vision. He really wants to, and thinks he can make the world a better place, and not just for himself. And, he makes me think...a lot. Scotty makes me think about stuff...seriously. That's very cool." He munched into the meatiest part of the rib and savored it.

Shelly listened intently. "Sounds like what little I remember about Bobby Kennedy."

Marty laughed, knowing that he and his mom had had the same U.S. History teacher; a died-in-the-wool liberal who romanticized the Kennedy dynasty, and who had a particular devotion to his own vision of what might have been had the younger Kennedy lived. "Well...not that good, or that conniving...not yet, anyway." He giggled a little as he chewed, then licked some sticky sauce off his lips. "But that's kinda my job. I'm the trickster in the equation. He's the sensible, level-headed s.o.b." His grin hadn't left his face. "We're a good team...best buds. My job is to make him ease up and get over himself, and his is to make me be more responsible."

Shelly smiled through her quiet chewing. "But..." she swallowed and took another sip of wine, "...is it working?"

Marty considered it for a second, then shrugged. "That's a long-term project, Mom. Like I said, this is a guy who's gonna go places. I want to be along to help whenever he needs it. Thing is, I usually have to decide when he needs it."

Jill paused at the table. "You folks doing okay? Need anything?"

Marty sat back in his chair and wiped his fingers. "Ya' know Jill?" He pointed to the platter, two thirds of the ribs reduced to neatly cleaned bones. "I could probably finish off the rest of these, but I'm trying not to stuff myself to the point of discomfort. Why don't we box these up and I'll have them for breakfast."

Shelly grinned and slowly shook her head, knowing full-well that he would be munching them at about 7:30 tomorrow morning. Jill chuckled as she lifted the platter. "Are you finished as well, Mrs. Anderson?" Shelly nodded, "Yes, it was delicious, thank you," and she reached for her water glass.

Marty wanted to chat a little longer. "Why don't you bring us a couple cups of coffee when you come back, Jill, but make Mom's decaf." His eyebrows asked Shelly to confirm the memory that she'd only drink decaf after noon on any given day. Shelly nodded.

"You got it, Marty." He admired her form again as she walked toward the kitchen, trying to decide if he had, in fact, ever met the shapely waitress.

Shelly interrupted his musings. "Well, while you oogle the waitress, I'm going to visit the little girls' room."

Marty blushed a little, and returned to wracking his memory as Shelly exited the dining room.

"So...how's Madison treating you? It is Madison, right?" Jill carefully set down a wide, steaming mug and a clean spoon, and she sported a coy, satisfied expression.

Marty rolled his eyes and head at the same time. "Okay, you got me. I give up! When and where?"

Jill laughed as she set down Shelly's coffee. "I didn't think you remembered me. We never knew each other all that well. When you were a freshman, I was a senior, and was best friends with your cousin, Bridgette."

Then it hit him. "Jill Fuderer! That's it! Jeez, you and Bridg' were, like, inseperable!"

He smile never faded. "Still are, mostly." She lowered her head and her voice. "And you were that cute little freshman who had the balls to crash the Seniors' parties like you belonged there. `Course, Bridg' always had your back, so nobody was gonna mess with you." Bridgette had always occupied the upper caste of the public school's social strata, and she and Marty had been very close as kids. "I always thought you were such a funny little dude." She took a half step back. "And look at you know...you're all growed up!!"

"Well, yes and no, Jill! Yes and no. I still am a funny little dude, but if you tell anybody I'm all growed up, I'll call you a liar, to your face and in public." He sipped from the cup. "You know, I was wondering, when we sat down, and then when you called Mom by our last name. I figured out that you had the upper hand." Marty looked up as Shelly pulled out her chair. "Hey Mom! This is Jill Fuderer, an old friend of Bridg'! Ya' know, I knew she looked familiar."

"Well, it's Jill Ames, now, but yeah. I knew Marty a little bit," she held a flat hand shoulder high, "when he was about this tall. A mischevious little imp, as I recall."

Shelly nodded. "Nothing's changed there, Jill, and I suppose `imp' fits him." He lightly kicked her ankle under the table. "So, is Mr. Ames from Rockford, too?"

"No, ma'am, he's originally from over in Winnebago. A year after we got married, he was shipped off to the Gulf. Three months later, he was killed in action."

In unison, Marty and Shelly said, "Oohh, I'm so sorry."

Jill's gracious acceptance showed that she was very accustomed to this situation, and no hint of discomfort showed, though a little lingering regret laced her thanks. "Yeah. It's been two years now, and I have some great memories to love, and my own little mischevious imp to love in my Ashley."

Shelly's face exuded warmth. "Oh, how sweet. A daughter to keep you company and in comfort. That's nice."

Jill's face lit up. "Oh...she's my life! I'm blessed by seeing her father in her, so I know he's still with me every day. But at three, the girl can be a handful! But I'm lucky that my folks' are still in town, they're both happy and healthy, and they love to take her when I'm in class and need to work."

"Going to school, too?" Marty asked.

She nodded. "Rock County Community College. I'll have an Associate's Degree in accounting by the end of the summer, then might consider moving to a Bachelor's Degree. It'll depend on what the job picture looks like when I graduate. We'll see."

Marty smiled warmly. "Well, good for you, Jill! Sounds like you got it together, and sounds like Ashley is one lucky little lady."

Jill smiled again. "Yeah. She was born two months after Jeremy shipped out, so she never knew her Dad. She hasn't really figured out yet that there's anything missing in our family. And, Jeremy's folks are still close enough, and they dote on the girl mercilessly at every opportunity. They've been great to both of us, and have grown to be dear friends with my Mom and Dad."

Shelly's smile was serene. "Well, there you go, Jill. That's Jeremy's blessing to you. One big family of six, fond memories and a bright future for both you and Ashley."

Jill pursed her lips and nodded, then she sighed. "So...more coffee for you two? Oh! And, I didn't even offer dessert!"

"Not here. I'm good." Marty gestured to his mother, "Mom?"

"No, thank you, Jill. I'm just fine, and it was nice meeting you, too."

Jill nodded, having anticipated their answers. "Then I'll be right back."

Shelly rose immediately. She grinned at her son who was still seated. "I'm going to get my coat, then head for the car. That'll give you a chance to ask her out, without your mother around. I'll meet you outside."

Marty was about to protest her assumption about his interests, but hadn't uttered a single syllable before she cut him off with a finger. "Don't even go there, Martin Anderson! The instant you realized she was single, your wheels started turning in overdrive. And, yes, you are often just that transparent...to me, anyway."

Jill smiled, seeing Shelly exit the dining room. She put the box of ribs and the booklet with the bill on the corner as Marty was taking his last sip of coffee. "I can take that, or you can settle up at the bar. Either way." As Marty reached for his wallet, she asked "So, seen Bridgette lately?"

His eyes showed that he was thinking back across time. "Geez...uhm, not since last Christmas, I think. How's she doing?"

"Want to find out for yourself?" Anticipation flashed across her face.

"Whatcha got in mind?"

"Well, this Friday's my only day off this week, and Mom and Dad are taking Ashley for the night. So, me and Bridg' and some of the other gang who're home for the holiday are planning on meeting down at Rocky's at around eight. You should stop in."

Marty's face lit up. "Cool! Very cool! I don't think I have any plans. At eight, you say?"

Jill nodded enthusiastically as Marty peeled off several twenties and closed the cover on the book.

"But don't tell her I'm coming. Let's surprise her. I love surprises!" His eyebrows danced.

Jill flashed a wry smile. "Why doesn't that surprise me, Marty Anderson? So, Friday night, then?"

Marty picked up the styrofoam container and nodded, and patted her shoulder. "Count on it, Jill. Thanks for the invitation. It'll be great. See you then" He winked and walked toward the exit, her eyes following him all the way to the door.

As he opened his mother's car door, Shelly's anticipation was obvioius.

"Well?"

"Well what?" he teased, closing the door before she could respond. Shelly sighed as her son walked around the front of the car, smirking.

He slid the key into the ignition, and Shelly tapped his arm with the back of her hand. "Don't toy with your mother, Martin. Did you ask her out?"

Marty started the car, his expressionless face looking straight ahead. "Nope."

Shelly's mouth dropped open and her widening eyes signaled her confusion.

Once the vehicle was in reverse, a sly grin slowly emerged. He glanced at his mother out of the corner of his eyes. His smile widened as he turned on the blinker, and turned right onto the highway. "She asked me."

Kip was laying awake early on Thanksgiving morning, fretting over how to best approach his father about his future in Madison, when he heard the front door close. Charles Monmouth, Sr. was taking his beloved golden retriever, Mandy, for her dawn `walk and squat' in and around the nearby park. They hadn't spoken too much since Kip had returned from Madison the night before, owing in part to the fact that Charles always seemed to know ahead of time how things were going at school. He was so well connected through the fraternity network and his familiarity with some of the faculty members, that he didn't need to bother to show any overt interest by directly asking his younger son about his education. Kip's academic advisor made regular calls to the elder Monmouth's office with updates. In fact, she spoke more often with the father than she did the son.

Charles Monmouth was an enigma in so many ways. Monmouth and Associates was the second-largest public relations firm in a five-county area surrounding Milwaukee and its suburbs. His success was largely a factor of his ability to press the flesh and slap the backs of any number of the well-connected or wanna-be's. For his clients, and especially for his potential clients, he was gregarious, visionary, and he brought them the perfect balance of optimism and realism in gauging public opinion and marketing. He schmoozed with business leaders who were worried about their companies' images, and with politicians who were always even more worried. He was a brilliant writer and strategist, was often consulted by the regional media on the trends and attitudes of the day. When the work day ended, however, and he returned home, he was the taciturn Lord of the Manor.

He was a stickling creature of habit and routine, priding himself in the self-discipline that made for a well-managed life. To describe him as stern was an understatement, and he held his family to high standards of both appearance and true achievement. At home, he was a man of few words, whose body language and facial expressions usually communicated all he needed to say in order to make his point.

Kip was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a mug of sweetened black coffee when his mother, Diane, swept into the room. "Good morning, Kip dear!" From behind he felt a hand on each shoulder and she kissed the top of his head. "Sleep well, I hope?" Her fingers combed through his blond locks. "I'll make you an appointment to see Bernice on Friday. You need a good cut."

He didn't want one, didn't feel he needed one, but wasn't going to dispute it. He figured the appointment was already made. "Yeah, Mom, slept good, thanks. When will Chas be here?"

Diane poured herself a cup and softened it with a heavy dose of half-and-half. "Well, he said they'd be here about eleven, but you know that means closer to noon. Ever since he and Charlene became serious, you know he's always running late." She shrugged and dismissed the phenomenon.

Ah, Charlene. `Charlene the Ice Queen'. She was a stunning, petite, brunette from very old Chicago money, and she had a ring through his brother's nose before he knew what had hit him. Chas was cocky, confident and often condescending, unless he was talking to, or about, Charlene. The Ice Queen. Kip shuddered.

"I'm going to need your help in here this morning, of course" Diane's hand panned across Kip's view of the kitchen.

He knew the routine. "Of course. I'll peel the potatoes, I'll snip the beans, and whatever else the head cook needs. I thought I'd go out for a run, then shower and change, and then man my station in here with you this morning. All will be ready when Chas and Char arrive." The inflection he employed on her name signaled his contempt.

"Oh, Kip! You know she hates being called `Char.' It's Charlene. Don't be a pip today, please?"

Kip smiled as he got up to go change into some sweats. "Yes mother." He leaned down and kissed her cheek. "You know me...would never do anything to cramp Chas's style, or that of his lovely wife. And, when's she due with the baby?"

Diane's face lit up. "End of March and I'm going to be grandma. Me! A grandmother! And you an uncle!"

Kip faked enthusiasm. "Can't wait to have a nephew to spoil and dote over, then hand back to daddy for a change of diapers."

Scotty had showered, gotten dressed in a clean pair of sweats and a tee and walked through the kitchen before 7:00 a.m. It felt odd. So quiet. No warm Thanksgiving odors. No sink full of dirty cooking dishes or trash nearly overflowing with empty butter boxes, the potato peels, the fat ends of celery stalks and the strips of skin peeled from the carrots, the plastic wrapper from the frozen turkey, all of it spotted with broken eggshells. No traces of flour on the countertop. Suzanne wasn't bustling along side of his favorite aunt getting ready for Big Scott's mother and his brother's family to invade. Big Scott and Suzanne were both still in bed. For the first time ever, his mom had explained that this year, they'd decided to go out for Thanksgiving dinner. He certainly hadn't seen this coming, and he couldn't make it make sense. It just wasn't quite right. In fact, it felt very wrong.

Scott tread lightly past their bedroom door with a big mug of coffee in his hands and returned to his childhood bedroom. He tried to occupy his mind with a packet of information from one of the many national organizations that pretended to speak for college students everywhere, but it didn't take long before he deemed it bullshit. He'd had just enough time before he left to pick up his messages from Walter at the WSA office, and he marveled over the bits and pieces of "to do's" that Radar had left in his mailbox before heading back to Iowa for the long weekend.

After nearly an hour, he heard stirring downstairs. No voices, just one or both parents mulling about in the kitchen, and then the shower running. It had to be his dad. He was the "up and out of bed, one cup of coffee and into the john for a shit, shower and shave" kind of guy in the family. Another twenty minutes passed, he heard a muffled voice, finally, and it sounded like one end of a phone conversation. Then, Dad's heavy steps coming up the stairs.

His bedroom door was mostly open, but there was a knock on the frame anyway. "Scotty? You up and at'em?"

He tried to look occupied with the folder on his lap. "Yeah, Dad, c'mon in!" He smiled meekly. "G'mornin' Just doin' some light reading. What's up?"

Big Scott smiled and twirled the keys to the van on his index finger. "I'm goin' out to Pineview to pick her up for the day, and I thought you'd like to come along. Lord knows Gran would love it."

Scott sat upright off the pillows he'd been leaning back against. "She's coming!? She gets to come with us today?!"

His Dad sighed and grinned. "Yup. Sylvia said she's having a good day. A really good day, in fact. Knows it's Thanksgiving, and has been asking about turkey...and me...and your mom...and you."

Scott rolled off the bed and fished beneath it for a pair of shoes. "Holy shit! Go warm up the van! I'll put on some shoes, grab the chair out of the closet, and meet you at the front curb."

Evelyn Turner, nee Nesmith, was an American original. She was one of the many foot soldiers in all causes left of center...far left. Born just after women were granted the right to vote, she'd been swept up into the causes by her fervent determination to join, and win, Margaret Sanger's battles in support of complete and unfettered reproductive rights for women.

In that struggle, she'd been arrested twice, and once even had the privilege of spending several hours in an Indiana jail with Ms. Sanger. >From there, it was the civil rights movement of the fifties and sixties. Her husband, William, whom Scotty had never known, threatened to take their son and leave her when she insisted in getting on a Greyhound bus and sitting in one of the back seats during the Freedom Rides through the south.

Another couple of nights on a thin mattress over a metal cot in a Jackson, Mississippi, jail. "Small price to pay..." Scott remembered her saying, as he sat on the floor and paged through her scrapbook of headlines, news photos, citations and court documents. "...but so gawdawful unfair! The judge sentenced the black riders to thirty days in maximum security for the same crime. And, I heard that when those boys and girls wouldn't stop singing their protest anthems from behind the bars, those goons even took away their blankets and mattresses."

Then came "Johnson's War," as Evelyn, and more than a few others, called it. Scott was still working through whether or not that label was entirely fair. But, by that time, Evelyn was well into her forties, the mother of a teenage son, and not as willing to lay down to be handcuffed and dragged away. William never had left her side, and never would have, and he always made sure she had bail money when she left on one of her crusades. He did support her views, politically, but he had always lacked the fire in the belly that she couldn't get rid of.

In her more mellow years. she'd stood along side Wisconsin's Senator Gaylord Nelson, the political father of Earth Day during the first official celebration, and she had covered more doorsteps than any other single volunteer in the failed effort to see the Equal Rights Amendment ratified. The night Ronald Reagan was elected, she quietly muttered to her son, "That's one giant step for man...backwards." Scotty was determined to work out the ideological questions for himself and to make up his own mind on the substance of these weighty issues, but his adoration of this proud woman and her unwavering devotion to principle remained one of the constants in his life.

When Scott was a high school freshman, his parents sat him down and explained that Gran had been finally diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease. He had noticed changes in her demeanor, an increased propensity to discuss those days of yore on the front lines, occasional and uncharacteristic lapses in memory, inexplicable mood swings. The summer before his senior year, the family made the difficult decision to move her out of her house and into Pineview Care Center. Her resistance only softened when they'd sworn that the house would not be sold, telling her she could return to it when she got better. She knew she'd never get better, but at least she could still visit the place on those days she could leave "her cell." She had only been there twice in the past eight months.

Big Scott held open the door and Scotty pushed the wheelchair into the lobby of Pineview Care Center. "Happy Thanksgiving, Scotty!" Sylvia smiled and came from behind the large semi-circular reception area.

"Thanks, Sylvia. And same to you! So, she's good today, huh?" He bounced on the balls of his feet with anticipation.

Sylvia nodded. "More lucid and engaged than I've seen in a couple of months, and it's held up since Tuesday. The doctors have recently changed her med's regimen, and it finally seems to be making a difference." She tried to suppress a giggle with her finger tips. She looked first at the father, "She's been swearing about you," then to the son, "and begging to see you."

Big Scott shrugged. "Sounds like she's perfectly healthy to me."

Scotty was on his way down the hall. "Well, let's go get her!"

Evelyn was sitting in her chair in black slacks and a cream colored blouse, a sweater draped over her shoulders and a black beret set carefully over the snow white curls that flowed over her collar and the back of her neck.

"Your chariot awaits, your highness!" Scott wheeled her transport into the room trying to look stoic and failing miserably at it.

Evelyn's face erupted in a brilliant flash of light and life. "Scotty!" Her hands came off her lap and reached out to hold his descending face. She pecked him quickly on the lips, then again on the forehead, slid her hands to the back of his neck and held their faces together and sighed. "Oh, Scotty! It's been such a long time! Oh, how I've missed you! Tell me you're well!" His face came away so that he could look into her eyes. They were deep set and dark, but they twinkled with the hint of mischief he'd always adored. "But first," she tugged his ear lightly, "tell me you've missed me to, you little shit."

Scott giggled and kissed her forehead. "Oh, Gran...you know." He shrugged. "College keeps a guy pretty busy. Hardly have time to think about what I had for lunch, let alone all the other stuff from days gone by." She pinched his ear harder and grinned. He winced for effect. "So, I only have time to think about you...maybe...three, four, five times a day."

She tapped his right cheek with her fingertips. "That's better. Now, where's your father?"

"Right here, mom." Big Scott was leaning against the doorway, both hands in his pockets, reveling in the love between his mother and his son.

"I have some things for you to look at, and want you to take care of for me, so come here a minute before we leave." Scott walked over to his mother, and crouched next to her chair. Evelyn took a short stack of pictures and papers off of the table next to the chair, and started giving her son orders. There were photos to give to this person, others to give to that one; a couple of legal documents involving her estate that he'd already dealt with, but patiently listened as she issued her dictares.

Scotty stepped over next to Sylvia. "Wow! When's the last time she went through any of her old stuff and knew what it was for?"

Sylvia shrugged. "I can't remember when."

Hope emerged in his expression and voice. "Can she stay the night? We have a room for her at the house, you know. We'll keep a close eye on her, and it would mean so much."

Sylvia's expression was apologetic and she slowly shook her head. "Not a good idea, Scotty. This could fade or disappear altogether without a moment's notice. When things go bad, she can be terribly disoriented, confused, ornery and even quite hostile." Scott's head sunk and his spirit deflated. "I know you hate hearing it, Scotty, but it's the nature of the beast. You don't need to be confronted by a total stranger, and a potentially angry one at that, who doesn't know where she is or who you are.

That's the reality, Scott. She should be back here tonight where the care she needs is immediately available. Then, I hope you'll come back through the weekend to visit." Scott was trying not to imagine what it looked and sounded like during those spells in her own special hell. "But, you need to know, right now, you're the best medicine she can get. There's no medical proof to back me up, but I just know that the kind of joy you're administering to her right now is helping her to do battle with that insidious bastard that's slowly taking over her life."

Scott nodded his thanks and noticed that Evelyn was done giving her son his marching orders. He took the handles of the wheelchair and slowly negotiated it over next to her seat. "As I said, your excellency, your chariot awaits."

"And my noble steed stands at the ready to parade me past my loyal and devoted subjects." Her hands gripped the chair's arms and her son's arm came around her back to support her effort to stand. Once situated, she looked at Sylvia. "I want to stay at my son's tonight, Syl."

Scott jumped in to the rescue. He leaned over and nearly whispered into her ear. "No way, Gran. Against doctor's orders. I'm bringing you back later to tuck you in, then coming back tomorrow to give you a few lessons in cribbage and backgammon. And, I want you to tell me again about how you got drunk at the Democratic Convention with Jesse Jackson and Jane Fonda."

Evelyn couldn't hide her surprise in learning that they were going out for Thanksgiving dinner. It never would have occurred to her to not put out a huge spread for family and friends. Still, she contained her disappointment in Suzanne's decision to forego the effort, for the most part.

On Thanksgiving morning, Marty spent a lazy hour or so lounging in his bedroom, listening to his mother puttering around downstairs. He walked into the kitchen a little before 10:00 a.m.. Michelle was at the sink, washing some yams, and there were three pie pans on the table, the bottoms already covered with a thin crust waiting to be filled. He poured a cup of coffee, kissed his mother's cheek and sighed. "So, where's Dad?"

"Out on the patio having a cup of coffee and a smoke." About the only issue on which Shelly had ever prevailed around the house was that there would be no smoking indoors. Dan didn't fight it, if only because it gave him ample opportunity to widen the distance between himself and his family on a regular basis.

Thanksgiving dinner was scheduled for Dan's brother's house. Uncle Jerry was three years older than Marty's dad and he was, if possible, even more ignorant and bigoted than Dan. His wife, Aunt Ricci, was a doting, adoring ditz, oblivious to the fact that she'd married a cave man. She'd bore him four children. Marty hoped that the eldest, Monica, would be at her boyfriend's again this year. She was a gum-snapping, hair-twirling slut who'd been trying to get into his pants since they both were thirteen. Jason was next, and was spending far too much time trying to piss of his old man with his effort to become the perfect Goth, all black and sullen and disconnected to the rest of the world. The eleven-year old twins, Tyler and Travis were the most normal of the pack, but Marty was sure there was plenty of time to make them dysfunctional too.

Marty peered through the curtains and out the kitchen window. "Well, might as well break the ice, eh?"

Shelly grinned and wiped her hands dry on a towel. "Well, you can't avoid him all weekend long. Might as well be on your schedule, huh?" Marty picked up his mug, sighed, and walked toward the back door. Shelly stopped him. "Marty?"

He turned. "Yeah mom?"

"Thanks again for dinner last night. I had a wonderful time. It really is good to have you home." He grinned and looked at the floor. "But, Marty, can we please all just get through this weekend with minimum battle damage?"

Marty felt a little defensive. "Mom, I'm not gonna start anything with him, but I can't ignore his shit, either." He thought about Schachtner's counsel that presenting Dan with a surprise when the time came would be best for everybody. "But, I'll do what I can to steer clear of anything nuclear, okay?"

Shelly picked up the potato peeler. "Do what you gotta do, Marty. And, yes, I do trust you."

Dan turned when he heard the door close. "Well...there's the college boy! Welcome home, Marty. Sorry I missed you last night. Worked hard and late yesterday, and all I could do when I got home was hit the sack."

Marty smiled as he stepped around the patio table. "Yeah, we heard you snoring when we got back from dinner. I'm pretty sure the neighbors heard you, too, but I suppose they're all used to it." Dan offered a small grin and shrugged. "We went to Lundee's last night. Great, as always."

Dan took a drag from his cigarette and another gulp of coffee. "Yeah, your mom said you had a good run at the casino last weekend, eh? And, sounds like you and your buddies got the royal treatment up in Minneapolis for the football game. How'd you boys pull that off?"

Marty shrugged. "Been makin' some friends with good connections. It was one of the guy's birthday a little while back, so we put this road trip together, and two of the guys, Frank and Jesse, are from Minnesota. Frankie has uncles in the Twin Cities who have major ties to all the right places, so the stars just sort of lined up in our favor." During the awkward silence, Marty judged `so far, so good. He actually seems interested.'

Dan scratched his goatee and he nodded, looking back out onto the lawn.

"So, there might be some payoff to the whole college experience thing after all. At least you're making connections."

Marty was flustered all of a sudden, but if it was connections that mattered to the old man at that moment, so be it. "Dad. In the past couple months, I met the governor of the whole friggin' state and the new majority leader in the senate. She's a good friend of one of my best buddies." Dan nodded, but tried not to look too impressed. "Frank's one uncle manages the ritziest hotel downtown Minneapolis, and the other's a big shot at 3-M." Then, in a moment of near-desperation to meet his dad on his own terms, he found himself bragging, "And the ol' man of another guy I know is one of the biggest bad-ass public relations honchos in the whole Milwaukee area." He was inwardly ashamed that he'd actually just held up Kip Monmouth as an example of his gains as a student at the University of Wisconsin. `God! Listen to yourself. It's come to this? You're trying to boast about being associated with Kip Monmouth? Get a fucking grip, Marty!'

Dan tapped out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe and tossed the butt into a nearby trash can. He exhaled a small gray cloud. He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "And your own old man is the sole owner of one of the two biggest contracting firms in all of Rock County. And he did it without some piece of paper from a hoity toity college. Something wrong with that?"

Marty backed off, heeding his mother's interests. "No, Dad. There's nothing wrong with that. You have a lot to be proud of in Anderson Contractors. You're a self-made success. But, you gotta see, the rules are different today. Nobody these days could do what you did without a degree. It just doesn't happen."

Dan toned it down a notch, too. "So, what are you gonna do? You got a plan for your higher education?" His face and voice poked fun of the word `higher.' "What are we going to get for my hard-earned money?"

Marty inhaled deeply and held it for several seconds, and took another big gulp of coffee. He took a shot at a diversion. He lifted his mug a few inches and looked at his father. "You ready for a heat-me-up?" Dan nodded and offered up his mug.

Marty took three steps up into the kitchen and Shelly heard the door close. She looked over her shoulder. "Well? I haven't heard furniture flying, and there's no shouting the `f-bomb' to shock old Mrs. Higgins next door. Looks like it's gonna be a good day?"

Marty smirked. "He's trying to play nice, I'll give him that, but it's early, and it's obviously a strain. I offered some more java to give us a little time and space. We're back on the whole college thing. I have to stand my ground, Mom, but I'm not gonna fire any first shots." Shelly rubbed his back and kissed his cheek, then picked up a Granny Smith apple and a paring knife. "You're a good boy, Marty Anderson." Then she paused and looked back up at him. "No...you're a fine young man, Marty." He swallowed hard and nodded.

Dan had already lit another cigarette. Marty handed him the steaming mug, then perched his butt on the top of the picnic table and planted his slippered feet on the bench. "Got another one of those?"

His dad's eyes darted to the corner of his eyes. "You smokin' now, too?"

He shrugged. "Not often, but sometimes it tastes and feels right with a good cup of coffee."

Dan shook the pack and a single filter stood above the rest. Marty nodded and liberated the cancer stick. "Got a light?" His dad tossed him the Bic. Marty lit the smoke, and tossed it back.

"So?" Dan was going to pester his son further about his plans for college, and after. He didn't need to say any more.

Marty shrugged, "Well, I'm definitely staying with the business degree, but pretty sure I'm gonna narrow it down to marketing. I'm going to sit down with my advisor next week."

Dan was out of his league now, and both of them knew it. "And what's that gonna do for you?"

Marty was heading into deep water now, and he knew it, but he forged ahead. "Well, I just had a great run with my friend, Scott, who ran for office on campus. And, I kinda...well, he wouldn't admit it, and I wouldn't ask him to...but I kinda headed up the effort. Well, a lot of the big-scale publicity stuff, anyway. We kicked their butts." He stopped looking directly at his dad, but stared off into his memory instead. " It was fun, and I made a difference, and it's all for the better for a lot of people, I think. No! I know it is." He looked back at his dad with hope in his eyes. "I just figured if I went toward the marketing area, I could take that and either go into the private sector or follow this stuff and go to work promoting or consulting on other good causes and candidates."

Dan scoffed and shook his head. "My son the politician. Jesus Fucking Christ! The shister, the...what do they call it?...the `spin doctor'?" He had been looking for an objection, and was sure he'd found what he needed to beat up his son. "I'm shelling out my hard-earned money for you to learn how to wallow like some pig at the public trough? You really want to go out there into the real world and sell pipe dreams so that us normal guys can have our taxes raised and our opinions ignored?" He scoffed. "Then, maybe I can send you for your Master's Degree and you can become a fucking lobbyist and really learn how to screw the little guy by milking the system we all pay for, and then we keep getting bent over for our efforts."

Marty's elbows were propped on his knees, fingers interlocked in folded hands with his chin resting on his knuckles. He took a breath and lowered his chin a couple of inches, pressing his lips into the side of his curled index finger. His lips parted and the front teeth rubbed across the flesh of the finger. He bit himself gently, and then not so gently. Finally, he turned his head back up and to his right, and looked straight into his father's eyes. "And, this from the guy...the contractor...who would run over his own mother to lock in a bid to build a friggin' outhouse anywhere near a public remodeling project."

Dan's jaw dropped for an instant and his eyes widened. Then they narrowed, and he gritted his teeth.

Marty continued. "Who the fuck do you think you're preaching to about the public trough? How many bids have you made to remodel a public building, or to have a big chunk in building a new one from the ground up? Tell me, Mr. `Poor Little Abused Taxpayer,' how many tens of thousands of dollars, or is it more, has Anderson Contractors bilked out of the City of Rockford, or from the county, or even the State of Illinois? How many miles of wiring or square feet of plywood have they paid for, that were never even ordered in the first place? Or better yet, how many thousands of dollars in supplies have been billed to the taxpayers, and then used in somebody's private home and billed again? How much overtime that was never worked have you tapped the good, honest taxpayer for? You want to talk to me about crooks milking the system? Shit, Dad, you're the fucking poster boy!! This house, your Hummer and even my tuition are being bought by those good people who are getting bent over by the likes of you. And nobody got to vote for or against Dan Anderson."

Dan gritted his teeth and sneered. "You ungrateful piece of shit! If I thought your mom wouldn't cut my balls off for doing it, I'd pull the plug on you in a heartbeat. You ought to be out on your ass, and then all on you own. That's never gonna happen to a momma's boy like you, though. I gotta hand it to you, you know how to play her like a fiddle, don't you? Hide behind her skirt a little while longer while you build these so-called connections and suck just enough out of me to get your almighty degree, without so much of a hint of thanks to the old man who put you here and got you there. Probably make a good political hack one day, you know? You have a gift for working the system and pushing all the right buttons."

As angry as he was, Marty thought it was encouraging that Dan was still considering Shelly's viewpoint about anything, let alone his son. He stood up, the empty mug hanging by his side. With his other hand, he pointed directly between his father's eyes. "Want to throw me out and pull the plug? Then go for it! I'll do it on my own. Then, I'll finish the degree, and set my sights on helping honest people get into office, people who are sworn to get bloodsuckers like you in their cross-hairs." He wondered if Maureen had any connections in the Illinois Attorney General's office, someone who might want to audit the accounts of one crooked contractor in Rockford. Not now,' he thought to himself. He heard Scott's frequent admonision, time and place, Marty, time and place.' Instead he pivoted on his toes, strode toward the door and went back inside.

Shelly had heard the voices, though couldn't make out any of the specifics. She stared blankly at the stream of water rushing from the faucet. She sighed. "Well...sounds like that went pretty good, huh?"

Marty's body slumped, and he leaned against the fridge. "Oh, Mom, I'm sorry. It's just...it's...," he sighed again. "He's like a friggin' cobra. He slinks and slithers and hovers, just looking for an opportunity to try to belittle me, then he strikes."

Shelly turned off the water and leaned against the sink. "And you're the fierce little mongoose, spoiling for a fight."

Marty was frustrated and torn, feeling guilty about adding fuel to this long-smoldering fire. "You want me to be his doormat for a little while, Mom? Would it help matters?"

She stepped away from the sink and put her left hand on his cheek, and the right one just blow his neck. "No, honey. I'd never ask that. I'd never ask you to do or be anything other than yourself." Her left thumb stroked his cheek, then slid up to wipe a small tear from just below his lower lid.

He muttered "Thank you." After most of a minute's silence, he thought again about what she'd just said, `being someone other than myself,' and his face lit up in a big smile. "Hey! That reminds me! There's something I wanted to show you."

She released her gentle grip and looked at him suspiciously. "What now?"

He poured himself another cup of coffee and placed the empty decanter in the sink. "Remember the Halloween Party I told you about? I got some pictures! You're not gonna believe our costumes! I got a big picture that was in the Madison paper, and a bunch of others that a friend took of all of us."

"That was the whole `Batman' thing, right?"

He set down the mug and peered out the window. "Yeah! They're in my backpack, and I left it out in the car. Be right back." Dan wasn't on the patio any more, but he thought he'd go out the front door, anyway, to at least try to avoid crossing paths.

After crossing the front lawn and retrieving the pack from the back seat of the car, he looked around again. No Dan in sight on the side of the house, either. Then he heard his father's voice coming from the other side of his Hummer, parked just to the left of Marty's car. "Ha! I got your stuffing right here, Babe...Yeah, we're eating at Jerry's at around three. I should be able to slide out by around six...Yeah...the main trailer...I'll be ready for dessert by then. Naaah...even if they do, it's not like I care." Marty slowly closed his door, leaving it open a crack to avoid the latch from catching and making any sound. He turned and walked back to the house, seething all the way.

Shelly laughed and marveled at the costumes, not to mention many of the antics depicted in the pictures. "I wish Scott didn't have his face covered. You've talked so much about him, I'd like to really see him. Am I ever going to meet this friend of yours?"

"Yeah, Mom. I'll invite him down for a visit one of these days. Maybe me and Craig and Brett will kidnap him some weekend and drag him here."

Dan lumbered up the back steps. "Shell...when are we gonna be ready to go?"

She checked the clock and peeked into the oven, then surveyed the pies on the table, waiting their turn. "I'd say around two? Ricci plans to eat at three, so that should be just about right."

He surveyed the kitchen. "Okay. I'm gonna work downstairs in the office `til then." He noticed the apple peels at the top of the trash can, then glanced at the pies. One pumkin, one pecan, and another with a crust covering its contents. "You made apple again? You know I like blueberry."

"Ricci asked me to bring apple. Jerry and her kids love my apple pie."

He grunted again. "I like blueberry, dammit!" Then, he turned and lumbered down the stairs.

Marty patted his mother on the back. "I love your apple pie, too...and your pumpkin...and your pecan...and your lemon merangue..." Shelly giggled. "C'mon, mom, I'll help you clean up this mess. Jeez, you're the bloody Tasmanian Devil in the kitchen, you know."

Kip was peeling potatoes, a dish-towel tucked into the front waistband of his khakis when the doorbell rang twice and he heard the front door open nearly simultaneously. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer for the Almighty to just get him through the day.

"Chas!" Charles, Sr. threw down his newspaper, bolted out of the recliner and strode toward the door. Kip couldn't see it, but in his mind's eye, his father now had his eldest son in a warm embrace as Charlene looked on with an adoring gaze painted on her ceramic face. "And how's the mother of my grandchild?" She'd be getting a kiss on both cheeks about now. Father was spending all of his holiday warmth in the space of about ninety seconds.

Diane dropped the napkin and ring she had been arranging. "Kip, are you coming or not? Your brother's here for goodness sake!"

Kip sighed. "Be right out, Mom."

Glancing back at Kip with some concern, Diane started through the kitchen's doorway and walked right into her older son's waiting arms. "And where do you think you're going, good looking?" Diane squealed and pressed the side of her face into his broad chest, pulling him into a tight embrace.

In appearance, Chas was all that Kip presented, and then some. If Kip could've been an A and F model, Chas would have been the cover boy. To Kip, and he was certain to everybody else, Chas's shoulders were broader, his neck was thicker, his teeth were straighter and whiter, his complexion was more clear and his shave was closer. His hair was shinier and always had a better cut to it.

"Welcome home, honey! And, happy Thanksgiving!" Diane stepped back and looked up into his smiling face. "You're sure looking good, dear! Always such the handsome young man! It looks like married life and the new job are agreeing with you just fine."

"Thanks, Ma. I'm good." Chas glanced over her head toward his little brother, who was just wiping off his hands with the towel. "Hey, Kippy! You look good in an apron." Kip faked a chuckle and pulled on the towel, dropping it on the counter. Chas released his mother and extended his right hand, firmly slapping Kip's shoulder with the left. "How's my baby bro' doin? He squeezed Kip's bicep. "Hey! Still working hard I see. You're lookin' good bro'"

Kip smiled back and accepted the hand. "Doin' good, thanks. Good to see you, Chas."

Charlene burst upon the scene. "Diaaannne! How are you, mother dear?"

Each woman grasped both hands of the other, and pecks on the cheek were exchanged. "Ohh, it smells like heaven in here! You must have been working since yesterday!" Her gaze fixed on her brother-in-law. "But, it looks like you've got yourself some good hired help."

Kip wondered how many times he'd been treated to that same forced smile. As pretty as she really was, that stupid grin always made the hair on the back of his stand up. Kip smiled and leaned down. "How are you, Charlene? Always a treat to see you!" Their cheeks touched and their lips smooched the air.

The old restaurant's buffet was excellent, and Scott doted over his grandmother all afternoon, even remembering that she didn't like having the cranberry sauce on the same plate as the rest of her meal. He knew she took her coffee black, with one sugar. Evelyn had countless questions about her grandson's college political career, many asked more than once, and she admired his calculated strategy to wrest control of the Association away from what she would have considered fascists. "Sounds like this Kip character is just another budding jack-booted thug. Keep him at arm's length, Scotty, but keep him under your thumb."

"I'm trying, Gran, but he's a slippery eel and I'm afraid I'm going to have to work with him from time to time. I don't like him, but he is more or less in charge of a sizable contingent within the WSA."

She tapped a spoon on the table, then pointed it at her grandson. "Well, I think it was FDR who said `hold your friends close, and your enemies closer.' Then she grinned and winked. "But, I'd like to meet this Marty character. He sounds like my kinda guy!"

Scotty grinned widely and nodded. "Yeah, Gran. The two of you would hit it off big-time! You're a lot alike in a lot of ways. He's a loose cannon sometimes, but he's one of the funniest, and most generous, guys I've ever met. Ya' just can't help but like the guy the minute you meet him."

Suzanne chimed in. "Your father and I would like to meet him, too, Scott. You speak of him so often, it's like we already know him, and it's obvious you two have become such good friends."

Scott thought for a second. "Maybe I can convince him to come up for a few days during the Christmas break. His folks are going through a very rough patch right now, and I'll bet he'd love a good excuse to get out from under his dad's roof for even a little while." He carefully watched his parents' faces. Big Scott registered nothing. Suzanne put down her silverware, her eyes drifted downward toward her plate, she picked up her napkin and quietly wiped her mouth.

Evelyn's eyes twinkled. "So, your mother and father tell me you've been courting a nice girl in Madison, Scotty. Do tell!"

Scott blushed a little, and chuckled inside at the term "courting." "Oh, Kelly. We met in our Lit. class a couple months ago. It's not hugely serious or anything, but she's real sweet and a lot of fun."

"And she's a real babe, mom!" Big Scott chimed in.

Suzanne smiled. "She's Maureen McCarthy's niece, Evelyn, so you can figure she's got it together."

Evelyn nodded her approval. "Oh! How wonderful. You know I always thought the world of Maureen." To Scott's surprise, Suzanne didn't flinch. She'd long gotten over the occasional and not-so-subtle message of Evelyn's that she was sorry when her son and Maureen ended their romance. "Except that she went off and married that Catholic." She turned to Scotty. "This girl isn't Catholic, is she?"

Scott was accustomed to Evelyn's grudge against the Catholic Church. The only Catholics she didn't rake over the coals had been the Kennedy's. Still, he hadn't expected the question. "Geez, Gran, I don't know."

She waved a spindly finger in his direction. "Do not go giving your heart to anybody who answers to `That Man in Rome!'"

Scotty thought, `here we go again,' then he smiled at his grandmother. "Gran, I don't think Kelly Abbott takes orders from anybody, but I really don't know, and frankly don't care what, if any, religion she practices."

Evelyn's dismay at his disinterest on the topic showed. "It's a corrupt boys' club, Scotty. You can't trust a cabal of old men trying to make the most private aspects of our lives their own business, especially when the only sex they've ever had is with each other...or worse."

"Gran, there've been lots of problems within the priesthood, but none of them affect me, or Kelly, even a little bit. And you know that most American Catholics pay as much attention to the Vatican's dictates on lifestyle and personal choice as I do to meatless Friday. Besides, of all the things you've taught me over the years, acceptance and tolerance of all people is just about the top of the list. I don't care one way or another where Kelly worships, and if she is a Catholic, that won't get me to steer clear of her. I'm not sure where she and I are headed, but that's one aspect that isn't going to influence a thing."

Evelyn grinned with some pride at her grandson. "Maybe I was a little too strong on the whole `love thy neighbor' thing. I know you'll do the right thing, Scotty. I know."

With the last of the silverware dried and put away, Marty folded the damp towel and draped it over the oven door handle. Shelly went into the hall closet, reaching toward the top shelf. Marty knew exactly where she was going. "Ready for a lesson, sonny boy?"

Down came the box of Scrabble, and Marty settled in at the dining room table. "Bring it on, lady. One of these days, I'm gonna take you in this game."

She lifted the lid off of the box and smirked. "Not in my lifetime." Shelly had always been an avid puzzle-doer. Every morning, she sipped her coffee working the morning paper's crossword. And, on Sundays the big NY Times puzzle that ran in the paper gave her fits.

Twenty minutes into the game, a smile slowly crept across Marty's face.

He picked up four tiles. In front of the word "HEAD" at the top of the growing puzzle, he spelled "DICK."

Shelly screwed up her face. "What?!" She looked back at her smiling son.

"Double word score, 38 points!"

"Dickhead is NOT a word."

"Sure it is. Look it up in the dictionary, you'll see a familiar picture right next to the definition." His eyes pointed to a hunting photo of Dan on the small desk in the corner.

She slapped his hand. "Even if it was a word, it'd be hyphenated, and that doesn't count." She chuckled as she picked up the tiles and handed them back.

"Okay then." Marty put the D down and picked up the R. Working off the P in the word PHALLUS, one he'd played three turns earlier, he spelled out PRICK. Before she could react, he raised a hand in defense. "It's a word! Usually a verb, as in `to prick one's finger.'" He lifted the K. " Triple letter on the K. 22 points."

Shelly shook her head and picked up the pencil. "No comment."

Nearly an hour went by and most of the tiles had been played. The mother was beating the son by some thirty points, and she checked her watch.

"Oh, shoot! I almost forgot!" Marty looked up. "Honey, I think Laufenberg's is open `til three today. We need to get a half gallon of vanilla ice cream and a tub of Cool Whip for the pies. Will you run down there and get them? Then, we should head over to Jerry and Ricci's." She reached for her purse.

Marty stood up and raised a hand. "Got it, ma. Call it my contribution to today's feast. I'm old enough now that I should probably start bringing something to the table." He looked at the board and the score card. "I give. You put the game away, and I'll go get the toppings."

He grabbed his coat. "Back in a few."

Twenty minutes later, a plastic bag swinging from his fingertips, Marty opened the front door.

"But Dan! It's Thanksgiving Day for God's sake!" Shelly's hands were on her hips and her eyes were pleading at the same time her lips were frowing.

His dad's back was to him, hands waving shoulder-high. "I know what day it is, dammit! And tomorrow's the day after Thanksgiving, and Saturday's two days after Thanksgiving, and I'm going to have six crews out there working on eight different sites, and I need to go in to make sure that everybody has their head out of their ass and knows what needs getting done. It's November, and we don't have too many more days of outdoor jobs we can tackle. I HAVE GOT to go in and get some work done."

Marty caught his mother's eyes and he waved her off. "Let him go!" he mouthed silently, then nodded. "Just let... him... go!"

Shelly's hands fell to her sides and she sighed in exasperation and shook her head.

Dan was adamant. "I told Jer' that I had to leave by six. He understands, and so will Ricci."

Shelly looked over Dan's shoulder at her son. "We're taking two cars. Come on, Marty, help me load this stuff up."

"We can take mine, Mom. All the stuff will fit in the back seat." He didn't even acknowledge that his father was in the room.

After carefully placing the yams and pies across the back seat of his car, and the grocery bag on the floor, they watched Dan's Hummer back out of the driveway. Shelly opened the passanger door, sat down and slammed it shut. Marty started the car and paused. "Whoa! Hang on a sec. Forgot my wallet on the kitchen table. Don't want to be driving without my license." He was sure that his coat hung down low enough to hide the fact that his billfold was in his back pocket. He jogged across the lawn, and up the steps. He scooped the Halloween photos off the table, and slid them into the inside breast pocket. His backpack was still on the dining room chair. He unzipped the small pocket in front, took out his camera, dropped it into the side pocket and snapped it shut.

Charles had carved the turkey and had offered his most humble and solemn thanks for the blessings of health, family, prosperity and the good fortune of the next generation of Monmouths who would join them next Thanksgiving. They took their seats and the parade of platters and dishes from hands to hands began in earnest. Charlene took a spoonful of green beans from the serving dish and delicately laid them near the edge of her plate. "So tell me, Kip, just what DOES your little club's vice president actually DO?" She was trying to appear genuinely interested in Kip's college life, but she was happy to point to the fact that he was the lowly vice president.

Kip swallowed a sip of wine and cleared his throat. "Well...first, it's not really what you'd call a club, at least not one like anybody can just join. The Wisconsin Student Association is the elected representative voice of the forty-thousand-plus students on the Madison campus."

Charlene smiled and muffled a chuckle. "Sort of like Student Council was back in high school? Those kids were always so weird...so serious about such silly things." Kip had an image of her at the age of sixteen, hammered on expensive gin, on the back seat of some BMW, legs in the air and begging to get fucked again by the captain of the football team. In truth, it had been the team's coach who was nailing her through most of her junior year. Then, her father caught wind and the coach unexpectedly took an assistant coaching and recruiting position at an Iowa community college.

Kip mulled over the question, keyed in on her true intent and casually shrugged. "Well, yeah, sort of. And, to tell you the truth, the V.P.'s job description is pretty vague. I'm still working with the president and other executive members to carve out a more specific role."

Chas smirked at the attempted subterfuge on his little brother's part, and Kip let him savor it for a second or two before continuing. "But," he put down his knife and fork and folded his hands. "I do have an exciting opportunity staring me in the face right now, and it's connected to the office." He looked at Charles. "I had planned to discuss it with you later today, father, but since she brought it up..."

Charlene's serene expression flashed daggers as Kip put the blame for this sudden change in the conversation's direction squarely on her plate.

"You see, our current student member couldn't attend, so I represented the students at the last meeting of the University System's Board of Regents. In the process, I was invited to have dinner with the board's current president and the future one."

Chas dropped his fork. "You mean THE Board? The governing board for the entire UW System?"

Kip fought to remain nonchalant. He shrugged as he cut a piece of turkey. "Oh, yeah. The same one." He took a mouthful of potatoes with a small chunk of dark meat and swallowed, washing it down with another sip of wine. "Anyway, the board has fifteen members, with one seat set aside for a UW student. He or she could come from any campus, and is a full-fledged voting member of the board. Our current representative's term is up in January, so the governor will appoint another student to fill the vacancy." He emphasized the word governor, his eyes dashing between his brother's and the Ice Queen's. "I'm in line for that seat. Actually, it looks like I'm at the head of that line."

Chas took a breath and swallowed, recovering his composure, and his usual condescension. "And, little brother, what makes you think the governor would turn to you?" Kip could feel his father's stare boring into the side of his head, but he locked his own eyes on his mother's hopeful expression.

"Well...Mr. Pennington...that's Andrew Pennington, an attorney from Milwaukee, is going to be named as the next Board President." Kip had to manufacture some of the rest, but he'd had time to rehearse. "He told me, to my face, that he liked what I had to say during the board meeting, and during our later dinner conversation. Since we're on the same page on most things, and since I'm already a duly elected representative to our student government, he said he's willing to nudge the governor to appoint me as the new student member. He said he's ready to push hard for it, if I'm really interested. Basically, it's mine to turn down."

Diane's entire being swelled with pride, and she wanted to get up and walk around the corner of the table to hug her son, but she didn't. Chas had suddenly lost his appetite. Charlene played with her stuffing, totally clueless about what, if anything, to do or say next.

Finally, Charles spoke. "So, you'll turn it down." He sipped his ice water and returned to cutting a slice of turkey breast.

Kip's head shot to his right. Half of him had expected this answer, but he wasn't prepared to play it out in front of the family. But, here it was. "Father?! What?! Why?!"

Charles chewed the white meat and he took a sip of wine. "Oh, Kip! If only we had enough time to review all the reason." He didn't look at anyone in particular, but his mind was obviously organizing his thoughts. "First and foremost, that board is made up of politicians. We do not get our hands dirty and stoop to the low levels of the deal-makers. They spend countless hours finding new and more corrupt ways to gain or maintain their power. We do not kiss the asses of either the high and mighty nor the low and common. No...Monmouth's are NOT politicians! We OWN politicians."

Chas chuckled at his father's observation and Charles offered a smug grin. "Yes, father, every family should own at least one."

Kip had prepared for this. "But the Regents are business leaders and attorneys and leading educators! They're not a pack of greedy, needy office seekers. These are leaders in all walks of life from all over the state. It's not like..."

Charles raised a couple of fingers off of the table to silence his son, and it had the usual effect. "Beyond that, an appointment by that buffoon in the Governor's Mansion is hardly a badge of honor. He's a complete idiot with a gift for pandering to the most base segment of the population. He's a common, garden variety vote-getter without any vision for the people of this state or its university system. You will NOT accept any sort of appointment from that boob."

Kip had figured that would be on his dad's radar screen as well. "But I'd need to be confirmed by the senate, too, so it's not just his decision. And, once I'm there, I wouldn't owe him, or anybody, a gosh-darned thing! I'm only eligible for one three-year term, and once in, I'd be a free agent, able to speak my piece and follow my conscience." He looked at his father pleadingly. "Or even your conscience, for that matter, if you wanted. It's not like I'd have to worry about reappointment or re-election." The explanation was a good one, but Chas still managed to quietly scoff at it. Kip dismissed him by not even glancing toward the snort, but instead remained focused on his father. "And, think of the resume strength and networking I'd gain through a gubernatorial appointment, and three years as a full-fledged member of one of the state's most important agencies! I'd go to grad school, and then could come home with an MBA and some outstanding connections that could be a boon to my business career and your firm, father! It's a win all the way around!" Diane had to struggle to suppress a nod in her desperate son's defense.

Charles shook his head. "And that's another thing. You say three years! We'd agreed that you'd come back here after graduation, and go to work at the firm. Get a couple years of the real world under your belt, and you'll learn more than you can in the halls of the UW's business school. They're good, and that's why I send them my hard-earned money, but you can't beat practical experience. Then, Kip, well find you just the right MBA program, after you'd earned your keep a little more. Son, this is for your own good."

Kip took a deep breath and exhaled. He wanted to push further, but this was a losing battle. Plus, the Romans across the table were having too much fun watching this Christian being tossed about by the lion. He would not give them any more satisfaction, so he folded, for now. He would have perhaps one more chance at a one-on-one with Charles Monmouth before the weekend was over. He looked at his plate of cooling food and picked up the fork. "Alright, father. I understand."

Diane reached over and put a hand on Charlene's wrist. "So, dear...how are the plans for the new nursery coming along, dear?"

For the next three and a half hours, Marty humored his aunt, avoided his uncle and poked gentle fun at Jason, Tyler and Travis. Happily, Monica was spending the day at her latest boyfriend's house. After eating their fill, It didn't take too much to goad his eleven-year-old twin cousins into wanting to see the pictures. The two younger ones had always been captivated by their older, funny cousin and his usual antics. He'd made so much about the Halloween escapade that both were chiding him with "No Way!" on practically every other line. Finally, he rose from the basement floor, where the three of them had been playing video games, and said "I got pictures! I'll be right back, and you'll see."

He checked his watch. Just after quarter-to-six. He went into the guest bedroom and found his coat in the heap on the bed. "Mom. Tyler and Travis want to see the Halloween pics. Those little snots don't believe me." The boys giggled at his teasing. "I'm gonna run back home to get them, and put these two goobers in their place. Back in a few."

Shelly smiled and nodded, took another sip of her wine, then patted Tyler on the head. "You're going to be very impressed!"

A fifteen-minute drive home, a five-minute stop at the house, and a fifteen-minute drive back to Jerry's. Marty figured he could stretch it into an hour, if he had to. Luckily, the main trailer was just under ten minutes from Jerry's house at the edge of the city. He saw Dan's Hummer parked right next to the entrance to the mobile office, and the red Mazda was right next to that. Marty parked a half-block up the street, and jogged to the lot's entrance. He stepped lightly across the gravel. Late November in Wisconsin, and it was always dark by six o'clock. A couple of lights lit the area surrounding the trailer, but Marty didn't care. If his dad did discover him on the grounds, so be it. But, he had rightly calculated that Dan was so arrogant and indifferent to his own family that he wouldn't be peering out the windows or looking over his shoulder for anything. Marty had visited this particular trailer enough times that he knew the layout very well. He crept along the side of the double-wide to the window of his dad's office. No screen on the outside of the window to obscure any image. No curtains to obstruct a good view. "Perfect. You stupid mother fucker" he muttered as he pressed the power button on his camera.

Kip had retreated to the basement den and was sitting alone on the end of the couch, his elbow propped on the arm and his feet curled up on the cushion. The Packers were playing Detroit, and a light snow had descended on Green Bay. He heard the door at the top of the stairs close. The footsteps could barely be heard traveling down the carpeted staircase.

Chas walked behind the couch and stood at the end above Kip's head. "Nice try, Kippy, but you didn't really expect the old man to go along with that scheme, did you?"

Kip didn't flinch, and his eyes remained locked on the TV screen. "It's not a scheme, Chas. It's a good idea. In fact, it's a fucking GREAT idea, and you know it!"

"Come on, Kip, get over yourself, man! You? A full-fledged member of the UW Board of Regents? What do you even know about what they really do, what the hot issues are? What do you know about university governance, about personnel matters, about legal matters, about educational philosophies and practices? You're a business major who's made a decent name for himself in a frat, and on the crew team. From there to a hoi polloi body like the Board is more than a little jump, don't you think? Dude! You would be so out of your league. Forget the political crap Dad was spouting about, although he's right, but even setting that aside, aren't you afraid you'd end up looking like a fool because you don't know what the hell you're doing?"

For the first time, Kip's eyes traveled up and met his brother's sneer.

"I'm not a complete moron, you know! Like it or not, I'm a quick study. Yeah, there's a lot to learn, but there'd be plenty of time to prepare and get up to speed. Besides, I'd have a lot of help. Andy's got a lot of experience and will help me if I need, and there's a lot of decent minds within the WSA. It's not like I'd be going it alone."

Chas's face lit up with mock surprise. "Oooohh, Andy, is it! You and him are best buddies now, huh? What was his name...Pendergrast?"

"Pennington. Andrew Pennington."

The sneer returned to Chas's face. "Probably some ambulance chaser with good political connections. If he was an attorney of any caliber, I'd know the name. Never heard of the guy. He just wants another puppet on the board to do as he says. You'd be Pennington's lap dog and nothing else."

Kip shrugged. "It's not like you've been a lawyer long enough to know everybody, you know. Besides, you're in Chicago. Mr. Pennington practices in Milwaukee. There's more than a handful of lawyers in both places. You're some fucking yellow pages on the legal community in the whole Midwest all of a sudden?"

Chas wasn't done with his assault. "And...as for the brain trust that is the WSA...well, that's fucking laughable! I remember what a freak show that august body always was."

"It's not like that anymore. We're changing it. There's real talent there now, largely because of my efforts, if you didn't know."

Chas scoffed through his nose again at his little brother. "Yeah, I heard all about your noble efforts from some of the brothers. What a friggin' coup! You and some of the other guys set the table, and this Turner guy pulls the chair right out from under you. From what I hear, he's basically made you his bitch! And a nobody Freshman to boot! Jesus, Kip!"

"Okay, he's an ass! And, he won the first round. But we've agreed we can work together, and he was the one who said we could make more of the VP's office. Plus, he's a smart guy with a lot going for him. He doesn't know it, yet, but he's not going to call all the shots, and I think I can get him to support me on this one." A sly smile emerged. "In fact, I'll bet you that, when all is said and done, he'll be the one to nominate me for this position from within the WSA."

Chas rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You're not going to outright defy father on this, are you? What are you, fucking nuts? Kip, he'll cut you off in a heartbeat if you make a bid for this."

Kip shrugged again. "I'm going to have another go at him before the weekend is over. He's stubborn, but he usually listens to reason. I'll let the idea simmer and marinate for another day or so, then sit and have a one-on-one with him. I'll convince him that this can be good for him, too. On the political argument, he's still pissed that one of the politicians he used to own got caught with his pants down in the park. And, he'll see that I'll have plenty of help to be successful."

Chas's voice had lost it's venom. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his Dockers and shrugged. "It's your hanging, little bro', but good luck, I guess." He paused a moment and Kip's attention returned to the game. "But...uh...Kip. Speaking of help. Your big bro' could use a little help himself."

From the corner of his eye, Kip could see the pulsing movements of Chas's right hand, deep in his pants pocket. He continued to stare straight ahead, but his focus on the television was lost. "No."

"C'mon, Kippy! Just a quick hummer, for old time's sake. Charlene doesn't like going down on me. Doesn't like doing much of anything these days. Shit, Kip! It'll probably be March or April before she'll let me touch her again. Help out your brother like you used to."

Kip continued to stare ahead. "No, Chas."

Chas's right hand slid from his pocket, and the clear form of his very swollen member, running diagonally up toward his hip was obvious. "Ooohh, Kipster! Don't go playing hard to get, now." He laid a hand on his brother's shoulder and felt him flinch. He slid his hand to the back of Kip's neck and gently massaged. "Is this cuz I pissed you off? You gonna start holding out on ol' Chas now cuz I spelled out the facts? Come on, now, Kip. You used to beg for the meat. You used to like making the big bro' a happy guy. I'm just asking to go back to Dearbourne a happy guy."

Kip shook his neck away from Chas's touch. "I never begged you for anything, Chas. I served you now and then, but you made me, and I'm done with all that now."

Chas massaged his cock through the fabric of his slacks. "Remember it how you want to, Kip. Tell yourself whatever you want. But, I remember the hungry, thirteen-year old cock hound. I remember seeing you smile with a mouthful of this bad boy." He squeezed himself for emphasis, and Kip closed his eyes. "I remember your legs in the air at fifteen telling me you needed to feel me inside of you. I can still see your eyes rolling back in your head as you `ooooh'd and aaaaaah'd' your way through a good ass-pounding. Now, I don't want to ride your hole right now...well, I'd like to...but it's hardly practical under the circumstance. But you are going to suck my cock."

Kip's eyes were still closed. "No, Chas. I'm not."

Chas gripped Kip's wrist and pulled his fisted hand onto his crotch. Swaying his hips back and forth, he rubbed Kip's knuckles over his stiff pole. With the other hand, Chas unbuckled his belt and he gripped the tab of the zipper. "Tell you what, Kip. You send me home with a smile on my face, and I'll put in a good word for you with Dad." Kip heard the `zip' of Chas opening the front of his slacks. "I'll explain that we had a good brotherly talk, and that I think this Regents thing could really be a good idea after all. Give me a reason to go to bat for you, Kip. It's probably the only chance you have on this thing." Kip's fingers unfurled and his hand went flat against the column beneath Chas's boxer briefs. He pressed and rubbed the hard flesh beneath the fabric.

"That's my boy. We're gonna help each other out today, aren't we, Kip!

Just like brothers should." Chas sighed through his grin seeing Kip's fingertips grasp the elastic band at the top of his shorts. He let his Dockers fall to the floor. Kip opened his eyes and turned his head. As his fingers gripped Chas's hot, hard meat, he craned his neck forward and parted his lips.

After Big Scott paid the tab, three generations of Turners went for a long ride through the countryside. Evelyn went into her usual historical narrative of what used to be where, and several times marveled at the new developments that seemed to be springing up all over the county. Scotty only noticed it once, when she voiced her surprise at a subdivision that had been in place for his entire life. "Oh...my...God! Surburbia has finally made its way to our little corner of the world," Evelyn shook her head. She was wrong on most counts and Big Scott was acutely aware of it. He cast a wary eye more than once in the rear view mirror. She recalled families that had run this farm or that one, but whom had not owned the land in a decade or more. They returned to the Turner's for pie and coffee. Finally, when it became clear that Evelyn was wearing down, when she thanked Suzanne for the lovely dinner, Scotty wheeled his grandma back out to the van and returned her to `her cell.'

Kip was fully extended on the couch, dozing fitfully, half hearing John Madden's voice adding color to the game coverage, half dreaming about shit that didn't make any sense. "Kip." He rubbed his nose. "Kip!" His eyelids fluttered in response to Diane's voice. "Kip! Your brother is getting ready to leave. Are you going to come up and say goodbye?"

His feet landed on the floor and his elbows on his knees. "Coming, mother. On my way." Charlene stood with her coat on, holding Tupperware containers full of leftovers that she'd empty into the trash as soon as she got into their own kitchen. That vapid grin was pasted onto her face once again.

"Oh! I wish you could stay through the weekend! It's a holiday, after all!" Diane managed a hug without disrupting the colored plastic squares in Charlene's hands. Charlene leaned into the embrace, but said nothing.

Chas released his father's hand and leaned over to kiss his mother one more time. "Me too, mom! The office isn't officially opened tomorrow, but I need to go in nonetheless. We newbies have to pay the dues if we want to make partner one day." Charles slowly nodded in appreciation of his son's work ethic. Chas continued, "And Charlene is one of the judges for the floats in tomorrow night's holiday parade, so we really need to get back. But, don't fret. It's only a few weeks and we'll be back for a longer stay at Christmas!" He looked at his little brother. "And, it'll give us a better chance to spend some real quality time, Kip. I really do miss you, bro' and all the good times we used to have. A week at Christmas, and it'll be just like old times." He put a hand on each of Kip's shoulders, and then gave him a manly half-hug, patting him on the back. Diane beamed at the loving brothers. Kip nodded and swallowed, still tasting the remnants of his brother on the back of his tongue.

On Friday afternoon, and again on Saturday, Scott returned to Pineview to spend a couple hours with the proud matriarch. He paged through two or three of her scrapbooks, coaxing her into telling stories of the battles she'd fought. There were photos of Evelyn with Betty Friedan and Gloria Steinham. Another of his grandmother and a few others chained to the gates of a nuclear power plant. He had to search the sea of faces, but he found hers among the throng of people marching for open housing in Milwaukee. They played cribbage and backgammon, and he brushed her white hair as they watched Jeopardy. He couldn't help notice that her attention tended to wane and her memory failed her quite a bit. She must have asked six different times whether he saw Maureen very often, and how she was doing, and what her niece's name was at least that many times. Still, he was grateful for the spirit and the life that still flowed from this wonderful woman. At the same time, deep down, he feared that it might all be too short-lived.

Scott was sitting on the floor next to her chair as Alex Trebek read off the categories for round two.

"So, my dear boy, do you want to talk about it?"

Scott looked away from the TV. His brows arched. "Huh?"

"There's something on your mind...something you're not sharing, something that's bottled up inside. Want to talk about it with your Gran'?

A little jolt shot through Scott. He didn't see it coming, and wasn't quite sure what it was he wasn't saying that she was sensing. Was it his mistrust of his own father? Was it the true nature of his friendship with Marty, or his willingness to mess around with other guys? He mustered a casual smile. "Not sure what you're talking about, Gran'"

Evelyn giggled. "You know I have that knack, don't you...sort of a sixth sense about such things with those I love?"

Scott tossed his head back and smiled. "Dad says you're psychic, you know. Said he learned early on not to even try to fool, let alone lie to, you. Said that Grandad was easier, usually wanting to believe what came his way as a path of least resistance, but that you were off limits when it came to fudging on the truth. Remember? I learned the hard way."

Evelyn smiled and her mind's eye saw the nine-year old coming into her home from a weekend sleepover at a friend's house. Her son and daughter-in-law were away on a long weekend legal conference/second honeymoon, and she had the delightful job of doting over her grandson for most of a four-day stay.

"Mornin' Gran! We workin' in the garden today?" Scotty closed the door behind him quietly. He usually slammed it. And, his smile looked forced to his grandma.

She put down the pen and the stationary she was writing on. "Of course we are." She let the silence hang over him for a moment and saw he was looking everywhere but at her. "So...what'd you boys do last night?"

Scott sat down and picked up one of her doughnuts. "Oh...we played Stratego and had pizza with Michael's mom and dad, and his snotty little sister, then we went out." He bit into the sweet cake, loving the buttermilk and nutmeg that filled his mouth. He got up to walk to the refrigerator to get a glass of milk.

"And, where'd you go?"

He folded in the spout of the milk carton and hoisted it back into the fridge. "Saw a movie." He scooted back up onto the kitchen chair and picked up his doughnut again, pulling a piece off and examining it before slowly sliding it between his lips and chewed it slowly.

He hadn't yet swallowed the gulp of milk when she hit him between the eyes.

"Okay...what did you do?"

He almost coughed milk all over the table. He held his breath until he was sure he could swallow, then gasped. "What do you mean, Gran?'" A barely detectable tremor had already taken over his lower lip.

Evelyn shook her head. "Scotty! Don't yank your grandma's chain! Tell me all that you boys did last night, even the stuff you're trying so badly to hide from me."

Scott's elbows hit the table and his eyes pushed into the palms of his hands, as if he could push the tears back in. He sucked in a stuttered gasp and then sobbed. "We snuck in. We snuck into the movie for free. We didn't pay. That old fool Mr. Sager was balling out one of his workers and Michael and me snuck by him without buying a ticket."

Evelyn sat back and shook her head. "Oh, Scotty!" She folded her hands and perched her chin on her knuckles, then let him cry for another minute, the balls of his hands still pressed into his eye sockets. Her voice was nearly a whisper. "And tell your Gran' what was wrong with that."

He sniffed. "It...it...it was...it was stealing. We stole from that old creep, Mr. Sager."

Evelyn nodded, though Scotty still couldn't see her. "So, it's not okay to steal from someone, even if they're an old creep?"

And on it went. Evelyn sentenced Scotty to work alone in the garden, at minimum wage, pulling weeds, until he'd earned enough to pay back Mr. Sager, for both tickets. Then, she drove him to the theater, and commanded him to go inside alone and confess his transgression to the old creep, and to make full restitution. It was the first time Scotty had seen the old creep smile, and it was a warm, grandfatherly smile at that.

"So, if there's something on your mind you want to discuss with Gran' you know..." she paused. "But, you've reached the age when you're entitled to your secrets, so I won't intrude. No, you're going to have to come to me with those, but watch out."

Watch out?' Scotty was bewildered, something he was getting used to when he spoke with Gran', she could tell. "Two things about secrets, Scotty, one about life in general, and the other about your loving grandma. First, there's Evelyn's Rule of Two.'

He smiled and scratched his chin, certain she was about to deliver another lesson. "The Rule of Two? Okay, Gran' lemme have it."

Evelyn leaned over and carefully perched her forearms on her knees, folding her hands between them. Her index fingers came together and bobbed up and down. "Every one of us, Scotty, and I don't care who they are, each and every one of us has one...usually two, people that we just know in our hearts and minds and souls that we can entrust with just about anything. We're lucky that way. It's comforting."

Scott considered his secrets and his confidences, and didn't disagree with her diagnosis of human nature so far.

Her fingers jabbed the air. "But here's the thing! If you have two people, and I happen to be one of them, you're gonna feel safe spilling your guts to me, cuz I'm one of your two. You'd trust me enough to bare your soul, enough to say, I shouldn't tell you this, and this is just between me and you...' and you'd mean it. And I'd mean it when I nodded my assurance to you. You can trust me, my friendship would comfort you."

It was like trying to follow a mystery novel's ending, where the inspector spells out the solution to the bizarre murder, but he was still with her.

"But I have two, too! You might be one of them I'd confess my all to, and you might not. At best, that means there's one other out there I might share this secret with, cuz they're one of my two. I can trust them with anything, cuz I love em and they're one of my two. So, I'm free to lean over and whisper, I shouldn't tell you this, and this is just between me and you, but...'"

Scott's eyes narrowed. "And he has two...and she has two...and they have two..."

Evelyn tapped his bicep in approval. "You got it! Human nature...fact of life. Rule of thumb, dear boy. We all got two, and I might or might not be one of yours. There's no malice involved, it's all about trusting someone, and winding up hurting someone else in the process. So, if you don't want to hear it come back at you, then don't say it. If you don't want to read it, then don't write it."

Scott's mind jumped between her wisdom and trying to make a full account of who his two were, and who their two were, etc.

"And the other thing," Evelyn stomped on his accounting. "You can't tell me shit these days...not if it's a secret." He looked back at her in something that looked like shock, and she laughed. "Scotty, like I said, you're old enough to own and hold your own secrets now. If I'm one of your two, then cross me off the list. Bare your heart to me tonight, and I might be spilling your guts to a total stranger sometime tomorrow, and not even be aware of it for sure. But it could also be your dad, your mom, Sylvia or Wade, the big guy who takes care of me on the weekends. He's a sweetheart, by the way, and I'm sorry he's not here today so you could meet him."

She caught him reflecting. "You know, Scotty, it's not all that bad."

He looked at her with a questioning turn of the head.

"I've known people suffering from Parkinson's and from Lou Gehrig's disease. They're the ones that really suffer, because they're painfully aware of the limitations that keep piling up and tearing them down. Their bodies slowly fail them, but their alert and stable minds keep telling them, over and over, that they're losing control of their own lives. It's got to be maddening." Scott nodded slowly, and she smiled. "But with me? When I `go away' from time to time, it's not like I know it. I knew a woman a few years back with this same curse. When she was losing it, she continually made new friends practically every day. Never mind that most of those new friends happened to be family members or her regular care-givers, but what did she know? She was happy as a clam most of those days." She giggled a little and her eyes twinkled. "Hells Bells! She read the same trashy romance novel for about three years, and loved the sexy scenes the sixth time just as much as the first!" Then she grew somber and looked at Scott with sorrow. "The torture with Alzheimer's is when you do have your shit together, and you're left wondering how the dementia is affecting those around me, and the ones I love."

Scotty leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "Oh, Gran! There's nothing you could do or say that could reduce your beauty and the richness of your spirit. You've blessed everyone you've touched, even a lot of folks you've never met." She patted his cheek and he said goodnight.

On Friday night, just after 8:00, Marty slid his car in between two trucks in the back lot, and threw it into park. "One of them's got to be here, or on the way, anyway." Marty had called both Brett and Craig. He'd spoken with Craig, and left a voicemail for Brett. His message was the same with both guys. "Haven't been to Rocky's in a while. Let's go out and have a few, and shoot some pool...see who else is home for the weekend, and who's still hanging around...you know...could be fun!" Craig thought he sounded almost pleading, especially for Marty, but he figured the guy just really needed to get the hell out of his parents' house.

Marty could hear the music from inside the bar even before he opened his car door. `Got to get Larry or Seth to turn that shit down.' Either one would do it once he asked. He paused to take stock of the situation. Other than the day Scott had brought him to the District Attorney's office in Madison, he couldn't recall the last time he'd actually felt... felt...nervous.

As he stepped into the hallway just inside the back door, and walked past both restrooms, the view of the back room and then the front bar widened, and Jill came into the picture on the right side of the pool table.

She spied him, and waved him back with a hand and a `look out!' expression. He stepped back, passing the women's restroom a second time, and he heard his cousin giggle through the door. Half a minute later, Bridgette and another sandy blond that he vaguely recognized stepped into the narrow hallway.

Marty fell in line behind the two as they walked into the bar's back room. Marty caught the look of recognition on the face of one of his old high school buddies, and he quietly shushed him with a finger to his lips before the guy could shout his name. Tailing Bridgett closely, he reached around from behind her head and covered her eyes. Jill sang "Guess whoooo?"

Bridgette giggled.

"Oh shit!" She felt his hands and his forearms. "Paul?"

"Guess again!" The blonde smiled. She'd recognized Bridgette's younger cousin.

She reached down and around, grabbing Marty's ass and rubbing both hands up and down.

"Alex!"

Jill howled, but managed a "n-n-noooo" through her laughter.

Marty leaned up and whispered into her ear. "I'm pretty sure it's illegal in the State of Illinois to be groping your cousin like this, and I'm going to give you just thirty minutes to cut that out."

A broad smile burst open on Bridgette's lips and she squealed, "Maarrrrttteeeeee! You little shit!" She did a quick one-eighty and wrapped both arms around his neck, pulling him into a fierce hug. "Marty! Oh my God! It's been like...what...almost a year?" Each one's lips found the others cheek before Bridgette released her grasp.

"Since last Christmas, I figure. Jill told me you'd be here tonight, so I thought I'd hunt you down."

Bridgette looked at Jill with a question, so she explained. "I had the pleasure of waiting on Marty and his mom on Wednesday. It was kinda funny watching him try to figure out whether on not he remembered me. We chatted it up a few minutes and I told him to come out and join us tonight. We wanted to surprise you." Bridgette kissed her cousin's cheek again, then dragged him by the arm toward the bar to refill everyone's drinks. Jill followed close behind.

For the next thirty minutes, the three of them sat apart from the growing crowd in the back room, sipping their beers and talking smart. Marty learned that Bridgette was soon to become engaged to a CPA she'd started dating while in college, and that she hoped to start teaching elementary school next year. He amused the girls with tales from Madison, describing Scott's campaign, complete with the streaking incident and the fact that he'd met the governor and the most powerful woman in the state through his new friend, Scott Turner. "Remember the name, girls, the guy's going to make it big some day!"

"Marty Anderson, political mastermind. Give me a friggin' break!" Bridgette giggled. "One of the least serious, most cynical men on the planet finding a political interest? Whoda thunk it? Jesus, Marty!" She jabbed his ribcage with her index finger. "You couldn't name a single important political figure in the entire state of Illinois! Who's the governor?"

Marty grinned his guilt. "Dunno. Don't care right now. I'm slowly turning into a cheesehead, I think."

Both ladies squealed in unison, "Eeeeeeewwwww!" and mocked him by moving their chairs a few inches away on either side.

His look grew a bit sterner. "But really, Scott's starting to convince me that politics doesn't have to be a dirty word. I don't see myself ever actually running for office, but working behind the scenes for the good guys might just be my calling. It's fun to work on public opinion and grab attention." He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. "You know me, Bridg'! If I can't steal the show, then who can? Why not put that gift to good use by serving my fellow man..." His head pivoted slowly as he followed the very shapely and well-endowed redhead walking past their bar stools. "...or woman."

He winked at Jill and Bridgette slapped his arm. "You're still a pig, aren't you? So...got a girlfriend up in Madison yet? The pickin's must be pretty good on a campus that size."

"Naaah. Nothin' serioius. Lotsa beautiful people strutting around, that's for sure, but you know me. I'm picky!"

Jill smiled and nodded. "Picky's good! I'll bet they're beating on your door, though, aren't they?"

Bridgette just had to tease her old friend for a while. "So...Jill...turns out that all those years ago you were right about my adorable little cousin, huh?" Jill furrowed her brow and questioned with her face. Marty's glance went from left to right and back left again, trying to discern what Bridgette was talking about. She put a hand on Marty's shoulder and leaned over as if to whisper, but loud enough for Jill to hear. "Marty...my best friend used to tell me...more than once too...that she just KNEW you were gonna grow up into one hot hunk!" Jill's jaw dropped in a `how could you?' glare that made Bridgette bust out laughing and made Marty grin and blush.

A pair of hands rested on Marty's shoulders from behind. "Buy me a beer, stud?"

Marty looked over his shoulder and grinned. "Do you ladies know Craig Bostwick? First-rate man whore and third-rate journalist." Marty nodded at Seth and ordered four more beers, handing one to his buddy. "You remember my cousin Bridgette, bud? And this is her partner in crime, Jill Fuder...'er, sorry...Jill Ames." Jill silently acknowledged the correction with a slight, kind smile, and Marty continued. "Jill's obviously a woman of taste and distinction. She thinks I'm one hot hunk!" Jill looked down and winced, Bridgette giggled and Craig just shook his head. Marty winked at his old friend and smirked.

They sipped their beers, and Craig rekindled his acquaintance with the girls. He'd known Bridgette a little, through his friendship with Marty, but admitted to only vaguely remembering Jill. Marty filled in a few blanks for the girls, nodding his head toward Craig. "This is how I met my buddy Scott. They're roommates."

A shout came from the back room. "Hey, Bridg' those are your quarters on the table. You're up! You gonna play or what?"

Bridgette swung on her stool and her feet hit the floor. She grabbed Craig's arm. "C'mon, my man. Let's teach these two a lesson."

Marty smiled at Jill. "You game?"

Jill smiled shyly and raised her brows. "Well, I'm not any good, so you'll have to carry me."

Marty put an arm over her shoulders as they stepped toward the table. "You got it."

For the next hour, the four played pool, reminisced, joked, nursed a few more beers and put on a pleasant little buzz. Anderson family tales were exaggerated by the two cousins, and more than one high school teacher was raked over the coals. An old boyfriend of Bridgette's wandered over and chatted with her for a while. He was a mountain of a man who'd been the poster boy for big, dumb high school jocks and who hadn't fared well physically in the years since they graduated. He still had the same flat top buzz cut he'd sported back in the day, and Marty judged that he'd picked up four, maybe six inches around the waist, and at least one more chin. He'd always been the first to say he was going to `throw that scrawny little smart-ass out on sidewalk' any time Marty crashed the upper classmens' social gatherings, and was always slapped in the arm and told to shut up by his girlfriend. He scowled across the pool table.

Marty couldn't help himself. He smiled, and had to speak loudly to be heard above the music. "Lookin' good, Mason! I see they let you out. You still on that electric monitoring system?" Mason's meaty hand rose in a fist, a plump middle finger extended straight up. Marty saluted him and winked before lining up his next shot. Bridgette slapped her old flame's shoulder one more time and told him to grow up and get a life. Jill returned from the back hallway where she'd gone to make a phone call. Marty nodded across the pool table. "What the hell did she ever see in that stupid lump, huh?"

Jill just shrugged. "That was during her insane period, I think. She's all better now. Her fiancé is a real prize! A great guy who is head over heels for her. My little Ashley just adores him."

"So Ashley's at your folks' tonight?"

Jill checked her watch. "Yeah. I wasn't planning on staying out this late, and was going to pick her up about now. But I just called Mom and Dad, and she's going to spend the night with them. She's already asleep on the couch, and they've got an extra bedroom set up at their place just for her. I'll go pick her up in the morning. We're going over to Belvidere to see the circus tomorrow."

Marty's face lit up. "Cool! I always loved the circus as a kid, especially..."

She finished his sentence, "...the clowns?" She winked.

He shrugged, open palms facing the ceiling and gave her a "Who...Me?" mug.

She hit the cue ball and neatly dropped the four ball into the side, leaving an excellent look at the one ball that was nestled near the corner. She walked around the corner of the table to line up the next shot, and Marty backed up a couple of steps to give her room. She paused as she walked between him and the table's edge and glanced back. "We're leaving at ten."

"I'll be ready."

It was early Sunday afternoon. The Monmouth's had dutifully occupied their regular pew at the morning services, and then stopped for a late brunch. Charles complained about the minister's lengthy and largely irrelevant sermon. Kip told his mother he wasn't quite sure how late he'd be able to stay. He had some school-work and fraternity business to take care of, but he'd be able to size up the situation once he'd had time to review the whole situation back at the house.

An hour later, he knocked on the door to his father's study. "Yes?"

"Father? Can I speak with you for a few minutes?"

Charles put down the spreadsheet and looked at the clock. He sighed. "Of course, Kip. Please come in." That sounded like a good start. Kip opened the door and stepped just inside the doorway. "Well, come in, Kip. What do you need, son?"

Kip sat down in the stuffed chair across from Charles's desk. His hands gripped his knees nervously. "Well, father...I wanted to discuss the Board of Regents thing once more...before I go back to Madison, that is."

Kip thought he detected a frown building beneath the stoic surface. "Really? What's there to discuss?"

"Well, I just thought if you and I had a chance...a real chance...to discuss the potential for such a great opportunity, that you might reconsider..." The corner's of Charles's mouth stiffened, and his eyebrows hardened as well. "...or at least think about it some more."

Charles inhaled deeply, then shook his head as he released it. "Kip...Kip...Kip! I thought you'd gotten over this foolishness."

"But..."

"I thought your brother had talked into you the good sense that I apparently could not."

Kip's mouth hung open and he blinked several times. "What? You thought?!...Why?"

Charles folded his arms and leaned back. "After he came back up from the basement on Thursday, before they left, Chas told me all about the talk the two of you had. He told me how you'd gotten past this pipe dream. He said you'd listened to his sensible reason, and seen the error of your ways." A knot the size of both fists assaulted Kip's stomach. "I was so pleased to know that you still do look up to him and listen to his advice. I never had a big brother, you know, and have long felt all the poorer for it."

"But...but...father! I just thought..." He just couldn't explain what he thought. He didn't know what the words were to explain what he was thinking. He feared he might vomit right there, right between his feet onto the Persian rug that adorned his father's home office floor.

Charles stood up and came around the desk, sitting on its edge three feet from Kip. He looked down at his son, and it appeared that Kip was suddenly perspiring. He folded his arms and tried to smile. "Christopher. I don't blame you for seeing this as an opportunity. But you're young. Not everything that looks like an opportunity is worth pursuing." He paused and tried to sense if Kip was getting any of this. "Look, Kip, if you can't listen to me because I'm this old dinosaur, I can handle that." Charles nodded over his shoulder to the portrait of Christopher U. Monmouth, his son's namesake. "I didn't always want to listen to that wise old man when I was your age either. But if you can't fully appreciate my point of view, then please listen to your brother. He cares about you, and wants all the success for you that he's managed to create for himself. When he told me that he'd shown you how this thing was just a bad idea all the way around, I was so proud of him. And, of course, of you too."

Kip's fingertips dug into his thighs just above his knees, and he blinked several times, praying that he could inconspicuously swipe away the tears with only his eyelids. He swallowed hard, then coughed and cleared his throat, if only to test his vocal chords. "I see." He stood up and extended his hand. "Well, father, I should really get going back to Madison. There's stuff to take care of around the house before the rest of the brothers get back from the long weekend."

"Good for you, Kip. You know your duty. Just keep living up to it, and you'll go far, and on your own terms."

Kip focused on his father's forehead, unable to look him in the eyes. "Thank you, father. I'll see you in a few weeks for Christmas." Charles smiled and nodded. Kip closed the door behind him and went to get his suitcase.

Early Sunday morning, Marty's car was loaded for the drive back to Madison. He was more than ready to get back to the books and begin the home stretch into the end of another semester. The weekend had been a roller coaster of almost epic proportions, and he ached for the relative predictability and stability that college and his friends offered him. He was browsing the business section of the Sunday paper and sipping a last cup of coffee when Shelly leaned against the kitchen doorway.

Her hands were stuffed into the pockets of her robe, and she tilted her head to rest on the frame. "I don't blame you. I'd want to get away from this madness too, if I were you."

Marty leaned back in his chair and pushed another one away from the table with his foot. Shelly poured a cup of coffee and sat down. "You know I'm not running away from you, don't you? You know I'd stay here and protect you, if I could, right?"

Shelly took his hand and held it to her cheek, then kissed it. "I know, Marty. I know. Thank you for being my son."

He squeezed her hand. "And thank you for being my mother. It's gonna get better...you know that don't you? I mean, don't just believe it...but KNOW it?"

She sighed and took a sip, and closed her eyes for a moment. "Yes, Marty, I do. I do know it. But, like you said. It's gonna get worse before it gets better. How'd you say it? `Time to suck it up' and get through the shit."

He was going to start crying, and Shelly could see it. She changed the subject. "So...how was the circus?

Marty beamed. "It was great! You know I always loved the clowns...still do. Hey! Maybe that's what I should do. You think dad would mind if I ran away and joined the circus?"

They both giggled.

"Seriously, Jill and I had a lot of fun. And Ashley is a complete angel, a perfect doll!"

Michelle tapped his nose with her index finger. "And she, no doubt, fell in love with you on sight."

He shrugged. "What can I say? What's not to love? Okay...not on sight, but she's obviously a young lady who's a great judge of character." He blushed a little. "I did get a hug and a kiss from her before we parted last night."

Shelly was intrigued. "And her mom?"

He was suddenly shy. "Yup."

"Gonna see her again?"

"We're going to keep in touch, and get together again when I'm home for Christmas. Relax, mom. Just relax. I'll keep you posted. But...yeah...we had a lot of fun." He put the mug on top of the newspaper and slapped his knees. "Well, my dear, I need to get going. Have lots of work to do when I get back, and need to keep the grades up. I'm looking around at scholarship possibilities, and have an appointment tomorrow with my academic advisor. I want to have all my ducks in a row."

They stood and embraced. Shelly swallowed hard, and whispered in his ear. "I have another appointment with Mr. Schachtner on Wednesday."

He leaned back and looked into her eyes. This time his thumb wiped away a tear. "We'll talk again before then, I'm sure, but call me after you've met with him. I'm wondering what's going to be up for Christmas." Shelly shuddered, and Marty kissed her forehead. "And, mom?"

The twinkle in his eye prompted a grin; she wasn't sure why.

"The apple pie was outstanding."

She reached down and smacked his butt. "Get going...Now!"

Marty had to double-check the address. It was a small office. The sign was small, too, and was on the building's surface, not hanging out over the sidewalk. He passed it twice before making sure he was on the right street and the right block, then angle parked and got out of the car. "I thought these suckers were supposed to `hang out a shingle' to advertise their existence." He nodded at the elderly couple out for an early Sunday stroll.

The front door was open, and he stepped into a small waiting room. A glass window looked onto what seemed to be the receptionist's desk, and the door to the inner office was naturally locked. It had a mail slot, however, as Marty had hoped. He looked again at the envelope. It was simply addressed: "MR. DAVID SCHACHTNER, ESQ. PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL" Marty wasn't even sure that attorneys really used that moniker, "Esquire" anymore, but he liked using it nonetheless. He mused, `maybe I should think about law school. I'd kinda like to be an "Esquire." He mentally kicked himself in the ass. "Yeah, right."

He slid the envelope through the slot.

They'd gone to early church this week, as Suzanne said she planned to stay and substitute for a friend in her second grade Sunday School class and then help serve the meal following a rare Sunday funeral service and burial.

Suzanne hadn't taught Sunday School, nor volunteered in one of the congregation's womens' circles since he was about ten. Scotty asked his dad if he wanted to come along to visit Evelyn, but Big Scott declined. "She is so loving the time alone with you, Scotty. She sees me several times a week," he sighed, "and a lot of times actually knows who I am." His mother's illness had become a burden, and there was more than a hint of resentment in his voice. "And, I've got a trial coming up this week that I need to finish preparing for."

At first, Sylvia's absence from the front desk confounded Scott, but then he remembered it was Sunday, and even she must get a day off now and then. He stopped to go through the formality of actually signing in this time and smiled at the pretty brunette who was juggling clipboards and looking like a nervous new hire. "I'm here to see Evelyn Turner."

Monique, according to her name tag, scanned a clip board, and gave Scott a nervous glance. "Uhm, one moment, sir." She picked up the receiver and dialed an extension. "Ah, yes, Wade. This is Monique. A guest, to see Mrs. Turner?" She looked back at Scott. "Name, sir?"

"Scott Turner."

She repeated the name, looked back with some confusion, and responded into the phone. "Er, no. I don't think this is her son, Wade."

"Junior." He offered with a small grin.

Monique clarified the visitor's identity and listened for a few more seconds. "Oh, I see. I'll tell him." She hung up the phone. "Wade says you're Evelyn's grandson?" Scott nodded, beginning to feel nervous. "He wants to speak with you. He'll be right out."

Scott swallowed. "Thanks."

A large black man, wearing the nondescript uniform that said he was some sort of institutional orderly, appeared in the hallway.

"Scott?"

He turned. "Yeah, right here." He stepped toward the care-giver who smiled and took his hand.

"Scott, I'm Wade Donaldson. I take care of your grandma most weekends.

Sorry I wasn't here to meet you yesterday, but she's talked about you a lot, off and on." Scott looked at the floor, dreading what might be coming next. Wade motioned for Scott to walk with him down the hallway, but they walked slowly, as if Wade needed to take his time in getting to the room. He spoke in a near-whisper. "Scott, she did not have a good night."

A thud hit Scott's stomach. "How bad?"

Wade shrugged, "Well, surely not the worst we've seen in your grandma, but it's pretty bad. You need to be ready that she might not know who you are. We prefer not to, but needed to apply some gentle restraints, because she was throwing things at the staff and would not remain in bed. It's nothing that's going to hurt her though." Scott clamped his eyes shut and inhaled deeply. "We haven't had to sedate her, and would prefer not to, since it could complicate the effort of the recent med change the doctors have made." He nodded to an open door and a lit room. "This is my station, so I'm not far away. I'll be near the room if you need anything, but will try to leave the two of you alone. You're being here could be just the thing she needs. If I don't come back into the room, please check in with me at the station before you leave." Scott nodded and paused at the door. Wade touched his arm. "If she's angry, and not making sense of the real situation, but if you think you understand where she is' at the moment, then do your best to go with it." Scott looked completely lost. Wade squeezed his shoulder. "If it's clear she thinks you're Santa Clause, the best thing to do is give her a ho ho ho.'" Scott swallowed hard and nodded.

Slowly, he turned the corner. He spoke softly, tentatively. "Gran?" He was horrified by what he saw. Evelyn's covers were strewn about. The rails of the hospital bed had been set up to prevent her from rolling out, and each forearm bore a wide band that was attached to the bed rails by several inches of what looked like a nylon strap. She was thin to begin with, but looked positively gaunt and quite pale. Her eyes were closed, but she was humming something that didn't quite sound like a tune.

"Gran?"

Evelyn's eyes opened in a flash. "William?!" "Oh, William! Where have you been?" She turned to look at him. "They've kept me in here for far too long, William. Have you made bail for me yet? What the hell has that damned attorney been doing all this time?"

"Gran...it's me...Scotty!" He had been apprehensive walking into the room.

Now he was afraid and moving toward terrified.

She stopped talking and stared, for what seemed to Scott like hours. Her expression slowly morphed from one of scrutiny to that of total confusion. At first she spoke softly. "You're not William." Then her voice began to rise, and her face became an angry scowl. "Who the hell are you? You're the lawyer! You're the lazy do-nothing god damned lawyer. What the hell do you think this organization is paying you for? When are you going to see the judge? Where's William?" Her arms suddenly jerked at the restraints. "Look at what these fucking Nazi's have done to us!"

Scott's vision blurred as his eyelids welled. He blinked away the tears, but his throat tightened and his lower lip quaked. "Gr...Gran ...Grandma...It's me. It's Scotty! Your only Scotty!" He took hold of her left hand as it quaked in a struggle with the restraints. Evelyn curled her fingers, and her nails dug into the back of his hand. He winced, but held on.

She jerked her hand away. "Get your goddamned hands off me! You might have a legal reason to hold me against my will like this, but you may NOT touch me!"

He finally remembered what Wade had told him. He rubbed his hand and cleared his throat. "But Evelyn, if the judge is going to grant my bail request, you're going to have to calm down. I can't go before him to arrange your release if you keep shouting and swearing. I need to represent a calm, reasonable, cooperative crusader."

She laid back on the pillow and closed her eyes for a few seconds, taking three or four deep breaths. Slowly, her lids lifted and her head turned. "Cooperative? Reasonable?" She gritted her teeth and sneered. "Cooperate with Bull Connor? Reason with the likes of George Wallace?" Her laugh was a maniacal cackle, and slim threads of spittle striped her chin. She tried to slap her knee, but the restraint forced her hand to fall short.

Evelyn gasped for breath and she looked back at Scott with wide eyes. "Shit! We snuck behind their lines and axed their friggin' fire hoses! One of the funniest damned things I ever saw. The fire guys hooked em up and turned em on, and there were suits and uniforms running everyplace away from the spraying water."

Scott couldn't help but smile, because he was certain she'd actually done that at one time or another. She dropped her head back onto the pillow, the white locks splayed out like a ragged halo as she rolled her head left and right as she laughed. Then, she lurched upright again and screamed. "Get me the hell out of her, you lazy, good for nothing son of a bitch! Do your fucking job and get me the hell out of heeeeeeeere!" Her arms flailed as far as they could and her heels popped up and down on the mattress. A dark spot appeared on her white nightgown, above her thighs, and it steadily grew wider and wider, followed quickly by the acrid smell of urine. Evelyn was oblivious to her own body.

Wade's steps were soft, but his shadow on the wall to Scott's left was large. "Time to go sir. Uhm...visiting hours are over." He looked at his patient and sighed before opening a large cupboard door and retrieved a wash basin, towels and washcloths. He picked up the wall phone and dialed a three-digit extension and issued some muffled directions to a staff member somewhere.

Evelyn's head jerked to her left. "Oooohh! And here comes Uncle Tom again! Still working' for the man, are you?" Wade reached to the upper shelf and found a clean gown for her, but didn't respond. "You, boy!" There was a contemptuous emphasis on the word. "You are an embarrassment, a discredit to your race! Your brothers and sisters are out there fighting, getting arrested and, yes, dying, you low bastard, to improve your lot in life, and you're in here in your uppity uniform beating us back down."

Wade nodded. "Yes ma'am." He nodded sideways toward the door for Scott to leave. Scott's eyes were locked on his grandmother's frantic face.

"You are a low-down, shifty, good-for-nothing Unlce Tom nigger, that's what you are!" Her right hand came up as far as it could, and the index finger jetted out toward Wade. "There really are niggers in this world, you know, mister lawyer, and that's one fine example of one shitty nigger right there." She tilted her head back, then thrust it forward and she spit toward the beefy orderly. Tears were streaking Scott's cheeks in two and three stripes. His mouth was dry and, try as he might, he couldn't swallow a damned thing. He was aware of his trembling hands and shaking knees.

Wade spoke slow, and low. "You should go now, Scotty. Come back again when she's herself, and remember that this is something beyond her control. And, when she's better again, she won't suffer from the memory of any of this. You might, but she won't. It's the nature of the beast. For now, though, time to be on your way."

Scott looked back once more. He took a deep breath, but his voice quivered. "Okay, Mrs. Turner. I'm going to see the judge now and arrange your bail. I'll be in touch once things are looking our way once again." Evelyn just laid on her pillow and stared at the ceiling, her slight frame rising and falling through her exhausted panting.

Scott turned and stepped into the hallway. Once he cleared the doorway, he leaned against the wall and bent to put his hands on his knees. He took several deep breaths and shook his head, then straightened back up to prop the back of his head against the wall and wiped his eyes.

He bolted off of the wall and ran down the hall, dodging an elderly man doing battle with his walker. Monique was startled as he sprinted past the desk and through the front doors. For the first thirty minutes he just drove without any purpose or destination in mind. When he'd stopped crying, he turned toward the northwest and found himself near the bluffs overlooking the Mississippi River. He sat on a small mound, pine needles and birch leaves crunching under his weight. He pulled his collar up against the cold November air and hugged his knees to his chest.

The sun was nearly gone when he slumped back into his car seat, but then again, so many of the bright spots of his young life were apparently gone now too. He was supposed to be back in Madison by now, quietly savoring the fond memories of a weekend with his Gran. Instead, he was brooding under a cold, darkening sky, cursing the powers that be for messing with his family. His warrior grandmother had been reduced to a blithering, spitting, bed-wetting lunatic. His lovely mother was obviously miserable and retreating from her own family His once-noble father was carrying on in secret with his high school sweetheart, a woman he'd once admired only second to Evelyn Turner. His suspicion toward Big Scott had turned to anger, then rage. After all, Evelyn was a victim here, as was Suzanne. Big Scott was making choices. He should have been at Pineview that morning. He should be honoring the decisions and marriage vows he'd made so many years before. His grandmother was gone. The father he'd looked up to, tried to emulate in so many ways was obviously gone, too.

A while later, when he shut off the car in his parent's driveway, a pair of headlights assaulted his eyes from the rear view mirror. As he got out of the car, his father called out. "Scotty! Where the hell have you been?"

"Why?" he shot back at his dad in anger.

Big Scott immediately felt on the defensive. "Well, I called Pineview, and they said you'd left in a hurry almost four hours ago. We got worried when you didn't come home and I finally went out looking for you."

"I went for a drive. I'm pissed at the world right now, but I am a big boy, you know."

"I know that, Scotty, I know." When his son didn't lash back again, Big Scott ventured further. "So, I guess Gran's not too good today, huh?"

"Not too good? She's gone!" He started toward the back door, slowly crossing the patio. "I don't know who that lady tied down to that bed is, but that is NOT my grandmother. The loveliest lady ever put on Earth is gone, Dad." He turned and faced his father. "And you're not helping matters any, you know!" Even he was surprised that he'd actually said it. He hadn't planned on this for the weekend.

Big Scott looked shocked. "Huh? What? Scotty, what am I...?"

Scott forged ahead. "Will you please tell me what the fuck is going on around here?"

The father took his son by the shoulders. "Will you please tell me what you're talking about?"

Scott sat on one of the chairs he'd promised his mother he'd move to the shed for the winter. "Dad, what the hell is going on with you and Maureen?"

"Maureen?"

He looked his father in the eye. "Dad...first it's Homecoming weekend. I call your room after you and Maureen dropped me off at the dorm, and you're nowhere to be found. About a week later, you tell Mom you're going up to Eau Claire, but I find your car parked outside Maureen's apartment in Madison. Then, Kelly happens to see you leaving her apartment again some time after that. Makes me wonder why you'd come to Madison without so much as giving me a call, and lie to Mom about where you're going. Mom's spending practically every weekend away from home, and when she's not, she's hiding from you at church. She hardly speaks, let alone leaves her room. For the first time in my life, she can't even do Thanksgiving dinner. You disappear for the night in Madison, you forget my birthday, you're secretly visiting Maureen at her place and God knows where else, and my mother's obviously miserable."

Big Scott hung his head.

"So tell me, Dad. Exactly what in Sam Hell is going on here?"

His dad's face slowly rose, and Scott could see his pursed lips through the darkness. He patted his son's shoulder. "Let's go inside, Scotty. We were going to wait a while, but I think your mother and I need to have a talk with you tonight."

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's Notes: Okay, gang, my apologies for the length, and the same to those of you who were hoping for more of the sex-fest that was the last chapter. I thought it was time to reach a bit, and try to stimulate the upper head for a change. A lot of my readers might be pervs, but you're an educated class of pervs who tell me you enjoy a good story along with the stroke material. God love ya'!

And, while I wanted to have the characters evolve some more, I couldn't find a convenient place to cut this monster in half. I finally concluded that I needed to let all the weekend's events play out in all three households.

On the pace of the postings, I've resigned myself to the reality that, if I can maintain the recent once-a-month submission to Nifty, I'll be doing about all I can while managing to live a real life, too. Hey, a couple of my treasured magazine subscriptions only come out six or eight times a year, so I figure I'm a couple of editions ahead of "American Heritage," and they have a huge professional, full-time staff!

My next installment might take a little longer. Not that you should care about my travel plans, but by the time many of you have finished reading this, I'll be on my way back to America's Dairyland for a couple of weeks. A very close family member is running for office in a month, and has a real chance of winning the seat from the bad guys. So, I'm getting my feet wet again in the politics of Wisconsin. I'm also happy to share that I'll be seeing some of my friends from the story, and we'll be gathering to watch the Badgers wipe up the Fighting Illini at my beloved Camp Randall. Marty will not be streaking. At least I don't think so, but you never know.

You might want to watch the papers, or keep an eye on ESPN on the 28th. If you're in Madison, look for us. Then, the next day, it's off to Green Bay and Lambeau Field, to don my foam wedge of cheese (yes, I really do own one) and cheer on the suffering Packers at home against Arizona. All in all, it's the Cheesehead dream vacation.

As always, there are people to thank for their assistance. Kory is always at the ready to help with the editing, and Glenn and Peter have become invaluable sounding boards for the unfolding of the story. They've all been very generous with their time and attention, and deserve a share of the credit (or scolding) for the final result. Still, you have to love `em.

And, Allan's reflective and thoughtful support will always be appreciated by the author. Love him too, while you're at it.

And, you readers are still encouraged to let me know what you think. I do appreciate all of your commentary, good and not-so-good, supportive and critical. If you do take me up on the invitation, please understand that I'm going to be out of commission for the next few weeks. If I don't give a prompt reply, know that it's only because I'm braving the threat of facing an October snowstorm in God's Country, fighting the good fight for all that's just and right in the world.

Finally, I have an appeal to send out as well. Any attorneys out there reading the story, particularly any of you barristers in Illinois? I do have easy access to one very smart lawyer, but his acquaintance with Illinois law, particularly family law, is scant at best. So, if you're out there, and if you'd care to help advise me on Shelly's coming divorce, I encourage you to drop me a line.

Well, long chapter, long notes at the end. Please consider yourself invited to sound off on the gang's latest exploits at scotty.13411@hotmail.com

Until then, Be Well!

ST