”“It was hard on her,” I said, “but it was the right thing to do.”Stephanie appeared at the door of the study.“Jen, can you come into the ...��Indian’ room for a bit?”She got up and followed my sister. I tried to read what was going on in my sister’s face, but for once, I couldn’t discern anything. It didn’t appear that she’d been crying, and I didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. She was calm, and that was a good thing. All I could do was wait. I sat quietly, just thinking about. I would know how long her shift was and how tough of a day she had. I knew this because my mom and aunt worked in the same place (McDonalds spot inside the mall) and that is where I would hang out after school since they could not drop me of to my house. They had overlapping shifts but one would get in early & leave early and the other would get in late & leave late. So, they took turns taking care of me and I would head home with either or.I have always been an observant person even to this. But it was the branding of the farmer's wife. With the farm's 'logo'. The farmer's wife, who was still lying quite numb on the iron roster above the dung pit. Shaking almost invisibly, her layers of white flesh acting as shock berakers on the cold hard steel. Harry's kinky revenge fantasy - that revived every time he thought about what the farmer's wife had done to him for weeks, without retaliation - was kindled when he looked at her, lying there on a roster. He had taken a bunch of candles. I had no idea how stimulating that one small gesture could be. It tickled, but in a very good way. I wasn't sure if it had been an accident, or if she had meant to do it, but when I glanced at her face I knew it had been intentional.I had never had a woman, or girl for that matter, look at me with so much interest. Today, I would say she was looking at me with bedroom eyes, but at fifteen all I knew was that something very interesting was happening. Part of me wanted to run off, like a little.
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