Hilary did not offer her aunt anything to eat, and Eileen showed no interest in what they were doing. Hilary had them eat in their own room. The simultaneous blare of the radio and television made it impossible to talk and Eileen frightened all of them, even the baby. But just as Hilary was putting their dishes in the sink and starting to wash them, Eileen's husband came home, and Hilary was even more frightened when she saw him. He was a huge, burly man with enormous arms and powerful shoulders, and he was wearing work pants and an undershirt and the cloud of booze that surrounded him reached her all the way to the kitchen. He started to yell at Eileen almost the instant he walked in the door, but before he could hit her, she waved the envelope at him and showed him what he thought was all the money. Five hundred dollars. He broke into a big foolish grin, never suspecting that his wife had hidden an equal amount in a pile of old stockings where she kept her own money.

"Woooo ... baby! Look at that! Ain't it purty?" Hilary watched him, long before he had seen her. "What's that for?"

"Them." She pointed vaguely to the back of the house and Jack suddenly spotted Hilary in the kitchen.

"Who's that?" He looked blank, and Hilary noticed that he had an incredibly stupid face, and eyes that reminded her of a pig. She hated him on sight, he was even worse than Eileen, and he looked meaner.

"Remember my brother's kids I told you about?"

"The one who snuffed his old lady?"

"Yeah. Him. Well, they came today."

"How long we gotta keep 'em?" He looked less than pleased as he glanced over Hilary like a piece of meat. He did not seem to think of their arrival as good news, in spite of the windfall.

"A few weeks, till that lawyer finds them someplace to live."

So that was it. Hilary heard the news with a shiver. Arthur hadn't explained it to them before they left, and she suddenly wondered what would happen to their apartment.

But Eileen was smiling at her husband, as Hilary watched them. She was impervious to the children in the back room, as was he. It was as though they didn't exist, and to the Joneses they didn't. "Hey, baby, let's go dancing tonight." They both looked too drunk to Hilary, but Jack Jones seemed to like the idea, as Hilary watched them. He had an oily-looking face and thinning hair, and thick hands that looked like roast beefs.

"Can we leave the kids?"

"Sure, why not? The older one does everything."

"Everything?" He leered at his wife and moved closer, as Hilary sensed with a shiver that what he was suggesting was improper, but Eileen only laughed at him and pulled him closer.

"Come on, you h.o.r.n.y old sailor ... she's only nine years old for chrissake...." Eileen was laughing at him as he pressed his mouth down hard on hers, and slipped a fat hand into her bathrobe.

"And how old were you the first time?"

"Thirteen," she said primly, but they both knew she was lying, and then with a raucous laugh she went to get herself another beer, and saw that Hilary was watching. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing here, spying on us, you little brat?"

"I was just ... cleaning up after dinner ... I'm sorry ... I ..."

"Go to your room!" she shouted, slamming the refrigerator door with a vengeance. "G.o.ddam kids." She knew they were going to be a real nuisance before she got rid of them again, but as long as Jack didn't mind too much, they were good for the money.

The Joneses went out at eight o'clock that night. Megan and Alexandra were already asleep in their narrow airless room, but Hilary was lying in the dark, thinking of their mother. She would never have let something like this happen to them. Never. She would have read Eileen the riot act, taken her children home, and somewhere, somehow, she would have made a home for them, and that was just what Hilary had to do. And she knew it. She had to find a way, and a place to go ... and enough money to do it. She wasn't going to let anything happen to her little sisters. She would do anything to protect them. And in the meantime she just had to keep them away from Jack and Eileen, keep them amused, outside in the weed-choked yard, or in their room. She'd make their meals, give them their baths, take care of their clothes. She lay in bed and planned everything until she fell asleep, and she didn't wake up again until morning, when Megan woke her up at six-fifteen with a dirty diaper. She was a good-natured child with her mother's red hair, which hung in loose coppery curls, and she had her father's big blue eyes, just as Hilary herself had her father's dark hair and her mother's green eyes. But it was Alexandra who really looked like their mother, and it tore at Hilary's heart sometimes to see her looking so much like Solange, and she sounded just like her whenever she giggled.

She made the girls' breakfast before Jack and Eileen woke up, and she took them outside to play, after dressing them in matching blue gingham dresses. She wore a red dress herself with a little ap.r.o.n. Her mother had bought it for her before she died, and she still loved it best of all. And it comforted her to wear it now, and think of her mother.

It was noon before Eileen Jones appeared in the doorway to glare at them. She looked as though she were sick, and had they been older, they would have known she was desperately hung over.

"Can't you brats shut up? You make enough noise for a whole neighborhood. Christ!" The screen door slammed and she went back inside, and they didn't see her again until after lunch. She stayed inside all day and watched television and drank beer, and Jack seemed to go somewhere else to do his drinking. The only change during the week was that Jack left earlier and wore work clothes. He rarely spoke to them, except once in a while, he'd make a crack at Hilary, and tell her she'd be nice-looking one day, and she never knew what to say to him. Eileen didn't speak to them at all. And it seemed aeons before they heard from Arthur. He called exactly one week after he had left them and inquired how everything was. Hilary spoke mechanically and told him they were fine, but it was obvious to anyone that they weren't. Axie had started having nightmares and Megan was waking up at night. The room was breathlessly hot and the food inadequate. Hilary did everything she could to compensate for all of it, but there was only so much she could do. She was a nine-year-old child after all, and she was slowly drowning in deep waters.

But she told none of that to Arthur.

"We're fine." But she sounded tired and unenthusiastic.

"I'll call you again in a few days." But he didn't. He had his hands full at the office, with a difficult case, and he was still trying to close out Sam's affairs, and find someone to take the girls, but by August, it was plainly obvious that that wasn't going to happen. And he had given up trying to convince his wife. She had finally told him it was her or the children. The die was cast. Arthur was not going to take them.

Chapter 7.

By the end of the summer two of Arthur's colleagues came to him quietly, quite unexpectedly, and offered to solve his problem.

The first to do so was one of the oldest partners in the firm. George Gorham was nearing retirement age, but only the year before, he had married an extremely attractive young socialite in her early twenties. Margaret Millington had been one of the prettiest debutantes of the year when she came out, and after that she had impressed everyone by doing extremely well at Va.s.sar. But after that she had left the expected mold, and instead of marrying one of the young men her parents expected her to, she had gotten involved with George Gorham. A widower, he was forty years older than she, and perfect for her in every way. Except that he was unable to have children. He had been honest with her and she insisted that it didn't matter. But he was afraid it might someday, and he didn't want to lose her. And little Alexandra would fill the only void between them. He had discussed with Margaret adopting all of the Walker children and keeping the family intact, and although it seemed a n.o.ble deed, it seemed a little excessive to them. He didn't feel young enough to take on a child of Megan's age, and a child as old as Hilary when she was adopted could present problems. But a five-year-old sounded ideal to them, and Margaret was ecstatic.

And on the same day that George approached Arthur about adopting Alexandra, David Abrams had privately come to see Arthur. He was only thirty-four, and he and his wife Rebecca were both attorneys, although Rebecca worked for another firm with more liberal leanings. They had been married since their senior year in college and had been attempting to have a baby since their last year in law school, with no success. And they had finally been told that the situation was hopeless. Rebecca was unable to have children. It had been a tremendous blow to both of them, particularly as they had hoped to have several children, but now they found they would be grateful for one, which was really all they could afford at the moment. Like the Gorhams, they had briefly thought of adopting all three, but they felt unable to take on that large a burden. What they wanted was to adopt Megan, the baby.

Which left only Hilary. And Arthur with an enormous decision. Should he break up the family? Did he have a right to do that? But then again, Sam had murdered Solange, and in so doing, had destroyed all of their lives. Maybe all Arthur could do was save each one separately. The Gorhams were wonderful people, and both of them were enormously wealthy. There was no doubt in Arthur's mind that Alexandra would have everything she needed, and from what George had said, it was obvious that they would love her deeply. What's more, they would be nearby, and Arthur could keep an eye on things, not that he needed to with George and Margaret Gorham.

And although Rebecca and David Abrams were less comfortably circ.u.mstanced than George, they were certainly two hardworking young people, with promising careers ahead of them, with families from New York, so it was unlikely they would stray far, and once again Arthur could play guardian angel to Megan.

But it was Hilary who worried him most. What would happen to her now? It was a great shame that neither the Gorhams nor the Abramses were willing to take on a second child, but when he inquired again, both of them were definite when they said they wouldn't. He mentioned it to Marjorie once again, but her answer was an adamant "no." And he sensed that their relationship might be in jeopardy if he persisted. He had promised her weeks before not to bring the subject up again. But that left Hilary with nowhere to go, except where she was, with the Joneses in Boston, if they would even keep her. There was going to be about ten thousand dollars in Sam's estate after everything was sold, and Arthur thought about the possibility of offering that to the Joneses for the care and feeding of Hilary for as long as it lasted. It was better than nothing, but not much, and he was unhappy with the solution as he made the final arrangements for the others. The papers were drawn up, and both couples were wildly excited. Rebecca planned to take a month off from work, and Margaret and George planned a trip to Europe in the fall with their new daughter. George had already ravaged F.A.O. Schwarz and Alexandra's new room looked like a toy store, whereas Rebecca's mother had bought enough sweaters and snowsuits and underwear for quintuplets. They were two very lucky little girls and their arrivals were antic.i.p.ated with breathless excitement. But it was Hilary who continued to worry Arthur.

In mid-August, he had a brief conversation with Eileen Jones, and explained the situation to her. And she bluntly said that for ten thousand dollars, she'd keep her indefinitely, but she didn't see why she had to adopt her. She could just live with them. And cook and clean, although she didn't fill in those details for Arthur. It was like having a live-in maid, she was already having her do everything, and Hilary was so deathly afraid of her that she did whatever she told her. She had struck Alexandra once hard, across the face, for some minor infraction she never explained, and she had hit the baby more than once, whenever she touched the television or the radio, or ventured out of their room at all, and it was difficult not to. It was a tiny room for the three of them, particularly a baby who was not quite two yet and didn't understand that she was being confined to her quarters.

But in any case, Eileen agreed to keep Hilary, as long as she got the ten thousand dollars in cash. She was becoming a very profitable little venture for Eileen. And this time she would tell Jack about two thousand dollars and keep eight for herself, giving him a long song and dance that she was doing it for the memory of her brother.

"I thought you didn't like him."

"He was still my brother ... and it's still his kid. Besides, she's a pretty good kid, and a good worker."

"Kids are a pain in the a.s.s." Jack knew firsthand. His last wife had had three of them, and they had driven him crazy. "But if you want to take care of her, she's your problem, not mine. Just so she don't bug me."

"If she does, just whack her."

"Yeah." That seemed to mollify him, and he agreed to let Eileen keep her. And that night she locked herself in the bathroom, checked that her other money was still there, and figured that with the eight she got to keep from the check for Hilary, she'd have close to ten thousand dollars hidden among her garter belt and nylons. It gave her a good feeling, in case she ever decided to walk out on her husband. And maybe she'd take the kid with her, and maybe she wouldn't. Depends if she was any use to her or not, otherwise let Jack worry about feeding her, or let the lawyer take her back. She didn't owe the kid anything. But the kid owed her. After all, she had agreed to keep her, hadn't she. She owed her a lot, from Eileen's point of view. And Eileen owed her nothing.

Arthur came up looking somber with a nurse he had hired for the day, and he was startled to see Hilary looking so thin and the others so pale after their months in Boston. They looked like little waifs and he found himself hoping that they were all healthy. And he asked Hilary to come outside with him so they could talk for a while. He wanted to know how she really was, but when she went outside, she told him nothing. It was as though she had put an even greater distance between them, and he didn't even suspect how much she hated him for leaving them in this h.e.l.lhole. She had spent two months trying to eke out enough sustenance for her sisters, barely able to feed them, let alone herself, on the meager allotment Eileen gave her. She had washed, scrubbed, cooked, and baby-sat, and constantly protected them from the threatened beatings of their aunt and uncle. And at night she sang them to sleep and held them when they cried for their mother. And Arthur knew none of that as he watched Hilary's face and wondered why she was so distant.

And now, he had to tell her the news no one had prepared her for. Her sisters were leaving, and she wasn't. They would never be together again, except on visits, if their new parents would allow it, and Arthur already knew that the Abramses wouldn't. They didn't want Megan to know anything about her past life, her parents, or even her sisters. She was disappearing into a new life. Forever.

"Hilary ..." he began awkwardly, sitting on the back steps of the Joneses' house, off the laundry porch, with the weeds scratching their legs, and the flies buzzing around them. "I ... I thought ... I have ... some things to tell you." He wished he could tell her anything but what he had to. He knew how attached she was to them, but it wasn't his fault it had come to this, he kept reminding himself. He had done his best ... if only Marjorie had been willing to take them ...

"Is something wrong, Uncle Arthur?" Maybe he was going to tell her now they weren't going back to their apartment, but Eileen had already told them it was gone, and she had adjusted. As long as they were together, that was all that mattered, even here. She turned her big green eyes up to him, and he felt as though Solange had reached out and touched him, but it only made him feel worse now.

"I ... your sisters are going away for a little while." There was no other way to tell her, except directly.

"Megan and Axie?" She looked startled and confused as she turned the familiar emerald gaze on him again.

"Why? Why are they going anywhere?"

"Because." Oh G.o.d ... please don't make me do this to her. There was a sob of anguish lodged in his chest. But he had to tell her. "Because, Hilary, there's no way to keep you together anymore. Your aunt doesn't feel she can, and no one else felt they could either. Megan and Alexandra are going to two very nice families in New York, to live with them. And you're going to stay here with your aunt in Boston." It would have been easier to run a knife through her heart, and when he saw the tears spill from her eyes he envied Sam the easy fate he had chosen, and hated him for it all at once. "Hilary, please ... darling, I tried, I really did ..." He reached out to her, but she escaped him, darting through the weeds toward the front of the house again, as though they might already be gone, and shouting back at him.

"No! No! I won't let you!" She ran inside, and offering no explanation she rushed into their ugly room and pulled both girls close to her. She had left them playing on her bed, and Axie baby-sitting for Megan. She held them close to her, with tears streaming down her cheeks, feeling desperate and helpless, and knowing that there was no way to fight him. She had nowhere to go, and no money to take them with, and no one to help her, and she was only nine years old. But they couldn't do this to her ... they couldn't ... they were all she had ... her mother and father had betrayed her ... and Uncle Arthur ... and her aunt and uncle hated her and she hated them ... all she had in the world were Megan and Axie.

"What's the matter, Hillie?" Alexandra was staring up at her with her big blue eyes, and Megan cried when Hilary held her too tight, so she simply let her go and clung to Axie.

"I love you ... that's all ... I just love you ... with all my heart. Will you always remember that, Axie?"

"Yes." The little voice was sober, as though she knew something important was happening. They had been through a lot together, the three of them, and they had an unusual bond to each other, as though they sensed each other's moods and possible danger. "Is something bad going to happen again, Hillie? Like Mommy and Daddy? Are you going away in a box too?"

She started to cry and Hilary was quick to shake her head. "No, no. Don't be afraid, Axie. Uncle Arthur wants to take you and Megan on a little trip back to New York to visit friends of his." She knew she had to make it easy for them, no matter how painful it was for her. But she could tolerate anything for them. But for Megan it would be the easiest of all. She would cry when they took her away from her sisters, but she would never remember ... never ... and Hilary would never forget them. She would carry them with her for the rest of her life, and one day she would find them. She swore it to herself as she held Alexandra, and a moment later, Arthur and the nurse he had hired appeared in the doorway.

"We should go soon, Hilary."

She nodded, blinded by tears, and suddenly Alexandra began to wail. "I don't want to leave Hillie." She clung to her hand, and wiping away her own tears, Hilary kissed her gently.

"You have to go to help take care of Megan, otherwise she'll be scared. Okay? Will you take care of her for me?"

Alexandra nodded through her tears. No matter what they told her, she knew something terrible was going to happen, and as Hilary packed her things, she was sure of it. Eileen was staying out of their way. She was so excited about the fresh green bills Arthur had given her that all she could do was sit in the locked bathroom and count them. She was going to hide most of it from Jack, but she wanted to look at it all together first.

So Hilary was alone as she helped put Alexandra and Megan in the car. The girls sat in the back with the nurse, Megan holding her arms out to Hilary as she cried, and Alexandra sobbing uncontrollably as Arthur got behind the wheel with a last look at Hilary.

"I'll come back to see you soon." She said nothing to him. He had betrayed her. And the cries from the backseat almost overwhelmed her as she fought to keep control, and stepped back, waving at them, shouting at the car, for as long as they could hear her.

"I love you, Axie ... I love you, Megan ... I love you ..." Her voice broke into a sob as she stood in the street, waving at the retreating car until it turned a corner and was gone, taking her whole life with it. And as the car disappeared, she sank to her knees sobbing their names, wishing that someone would kill her. She wasn't aware of anything until she felt someone shaking her, and a hard hand cracked her across the face. She looked up, blinded by her tears, to see Eileen standing over her, clutching her battered purse under her arm with a look of victory.

She spoke harshly to the child, as she always did. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing?" And then she realized that they must have gone. "Crying won't do anything. Go inside and clean up, you little fool. People are going to think we been treating you bad." She dragged her to her feet and shoved her into the house as Hilary sobbed uncontrollably, and another hard slap across her face did nothing to help it. She staggered inside to her room, and threw herself across the bed, which still smelled of the two children who had just left it. She could still smell the powder she had used only moments ago on Megan when she changed her and the shampoo on Axie's bright red curls. The agony was more than Hilary could bear.

She lay there and sobbed for hours, until at last she fell asleep, exhausted, drained, battered by the realities of her existence. And she fell into a deep fitful sleep where she was running ... running ... running after a car ... trying to find them ... looking everywhere ... and all she could hear in the distance was Eileen's drunken laughter.

Chapter 8.

That year, after tearing flesh from flesh, Arthur called Hilary several times, but she refused to come to the phone and talk to him, and eventually his own guilt made him call her less and less often. He knew that the other girls were all right. The Gorhams were ecstatic with Alexandra, she was a delightful little girl, and the Abramses were in love with "their" baby. But he had no grip on Hilary now, no idea how she was, since Eileen did not keep him informed, and Hilary wouldn't speak to him on the phone.

He went to Boston to see her once, just before Thanksgiving. But Hilary sat in the living room as though numb. She had nothing to say to him, and he left with a feeling of guilt and quiet desperation. He felt as though he had destroyed the child, and yet what choice did he have, and Eileen was her aunt after all. He told himself a thousand stories to calm his conscience as he drove home again, and it was Christmas when he called again, but this time no one answered, and after that he was busy with his own life. George Gorham had died suddenly, and quite unexpectedly David Abrams had decided to move to California, which meant that a great deal more work fell to Arthur. There were, of course, several other partners in the firm, but Arthur was among the senior men there and a great many decisions fell to him, particularly about George's estate which was very involved. He saw Margaret at the funeral of course, but she had decided not to bring Alexandra.

It was spring before Arthur saw Hilary again, and he found her even more withdrawn, with a bleak look of despair that was frightening. The house was immaculate, which was at least some relief to him, at least Eileen was making more of an effort. He had no idea that she used Hilary as a full-time maid now. At the age of ten, it fell to her to do everything, including pull the weeds outside, wash and iron her aunt's and uncle's clothes, clean, cook, and do laundry. It was remarkable that she got decent grades in school, but somehow she always did, in spite of everything. She had no friends, and no desire to make any. What did she have in common with them? The other kids in school had normal homes, they had mothers and fathers and sisters. She had an aunt and uncle who hated her and drank too much, and a thousand ch.o.r.es to do before finishing her homework and going to bed around midnight. And lately, Eileen wasn't feeling well. She talked about her health all the time, she was losing weight, even with all the beer she drank, and she had been to several doctors. She had overheard Jack saying something about Florida. He had friends who worked in a naval shipyard there and they thought they could get him a civilian job. He thought maybe the warm weather would be good for Eileen, and they could move down before next winter.

But Hilary never mentioned this to Arthur. It didn't matter to him. And she didn't care about him anymore, or about anything. The only thing she cared about was finding Axie and Megan again, and she knew that one day she would. All she had to do was wait until she turned eighteen, and then she would find them. She dreamt about it at night, and she could still feel Axie's soft red curb on her cheek on the bed next to her and Megan's soft baby breath when she held her ... and one day ... one day ... she would find them.

They moved to Jacksonville, Florida, the following October, and by then Eileen was very sick. She could hardly eat or walk, and by Christmas she was bedridden, and Hilary instinctively knew that she was dying. Jack seemed to take no interest in her, and he was out constantly, drinking and carousing, and sometimes she saw him around the neighborhood, coming out of someone's house, and kissing another woman. And it was her job to take care of Eileen, to do everything that had to be done for a dying woman. She didn't want to go to a hospital, and Jack said they couldn't afford it. So Hilary did everything, from the time she got home from school, until the next morning. Sometimes she didn't sleep at all. She just lay on the floor next to Eileen's bed, and tended her as she was needed. Jack didn't sleep in her room anymore anyway. He slept on a big sleeping porch at the back of the house, and came and went as it suited him, without even seeing his wife for days sometimes. And Eileen cried and asked Hilary where he was at night, and Hilary would lie to her and say he was sleeping.

But even Eileen's illness didn't bring out any kindness in her, no gentleness, no grat.i.tude for the impossible tasks Hilary was performing. She expected it of her, and even as weak as she was, if she thought Hilary could do more, she would threaten to beat her. It was an empty threat now, but Hilary still hated her, she had from the first day she saw her.

Eileen lived for another year and a half after they reached Florida, and when Hilary was twelve, she finally died, staring at Hilary as though she wanted to say something to her, but Hilary was sure it wouldn't have been anything kindly.

And life was simpler in some ways after that, and more complicated in others. She didn't have to provide nursing care anymore. But she had to steer clear of Jack, and the women he dragged in with him. He had told her bluntly the day after Eileen died that he was willing to let her stay under his roof as long as she didn't cause any trouble. He had also told her to clear out her aunt's things, keep what she wanted, and throw out the rest. He didn't seem to want any reminders of her. She had taken her time doing it, feeling somehow that Eileen was going to come back and punish her for going through her things, but she finally got through the last of it. She gave the clothes away to a church bazaar, and threw all the cheap makeup out She was about to throw out all her underwear when she noticed a little cloth pouch in one of the drawers and went through it just to be sure it was nothing important. There was over ten thousand dollars there, mostly in small bills, and a few fifties, as though she'd gathered it over the years, hiding it from everyone, and probably from Jack as well. Hilary sat staring at the pouch for a long time, and then silently she slipped it into a pocket, and that night she hid it among her own things. It was just what she needed to escape one day, and find Megan and Alexandra.

For the next year, Jack scarcely took any notice of her. He was too busy chasing all the neighborhood women. By then, he had lost several jobs, but he always seemed able to find another one. He didn't care what he did, as long as he had a roof over his head, a woman in his bed at night and a six-pack of beer in the icebox. But when Hilary turned thirteen, he suddenly became more demanding. He seemed to be complaining all the time, and asking her to do things for him. He didn't think she was keeping the house clean enough, and when he came home for dinner, which was rare, he complained that her cooking was lousy. There was suddenly no pleasing him, and he acted as though it mattered to him, whereas before he had taken no notice of her at all. Now he even criticized the way she dressed and said her clothes were too baggy and her skirts were too long. It was 1962 and miniskirts were in, and he told her she should dress more like the girls she saw in magazines or on TV.

"Don't you want the boys to look at you?" He asked boozily one afternoon. He had just come home from a softball game with some friends, most of whom were ex-Marines like him, but he was forty-five years old and three decades of drinking had taken their toll on him. He was overweight, and had a beer belly that hung way out over his blue jeans. "Don't you like boys, Hilary?"

He kept hounding her and she was tired of it. She never had time to notice boys. She was too busy going to school and cleaning house for him. She was going into ninth grade in the fall, a year early. And now she had ten thousand dollars hidden in her underwear drawer. She had everything she needed.

"Not particularly," she finally answered him. "I don't have time for boys."

"Oh yeah? What about men? You got time for men, little Hillie?"

She didn't bother to answer him. Instead, she went to the kitchen to cook dinner, thinking about how Southern he had gotten after only a few years. He spoke with a drawl, and a Southern accent that sounded like he was born in Florida. You'd never have known he was from Boston. And thinking of it made her think back to her brief time there with them ... she still remembered it as the place she had lost Megan and Axie. She had never heard from Arthur Patterson again, not since they'd moved to Florida, not that she cared anyway. She hated him. And it never occurred to her that the reason he hadn't called was because Jack and Eileen hadn't left an address when they moved. They had disappeared without a trace, and Arthur had no idea how to find them. He had his hands full with his own life anyway by then. Around the time the Joneses had moved to Florida, Marjorie had left him.

"What's for dinner?" Jack appeared in the kitchen with a beer can in his hand and a cigarette. He seemed to be eyeing her with greater interest these days, and she didn't like it. It made her uncomfortable, and made her feel as though he was taking her clothes off with his eyes.

"Hamburgers."

"That's nice." But he was staring at her firm young b.r.e.a.s.t.s as he said it. She had long, shapely legs and a tiny waist, and the thick black hair she had inherited from Sam hung in a black sheet to her waist. She was a beautiful girl, and it was becoming difficult to hide it. She looked years older than she was, and her eyes held the pain of a lifetime.

Jack patted her on the behind, and brushed past her without needing to, and for the first time he stood by her side the entire time while she was making dinner for him. He made her so uncomfortable that she was unable to eat once the hamburgers were ready. She pushed the food around on her plate, and left the kitchen as quickly as she could, after washing the dishes. She heard him go out then, a little while after that, and she was asleep in her bed in her room off the kitchen long before he came home around midnight. There was a pouring tropical rain, and there had been lightning and thunder, and he staggered into the house, extremely drunk, but with the intention of doing something ... if he could just remember what it was ... dammit ... it had slipped his mind ... he was still cursing when he pa.s.sed her room, and then suddenly he remembered, and gave a laugh as he stood outside her door for a long moment.

He didn't bother to knock, instead he just turned the k.n.o.b and walked into her room, his wet shoes squeezing water onto the linoleum floor and his breathing heavy, from years of cigarettes, but she didn't hear him. The sheet of black hair was fanned out across her face, and one arm was tossed over her head, as she slept on top of the covers in a childish cotton nightgown.

"Purrrrtyyyy ..." He purred to himself and coughed, which almost woke her. She stirred and turned over, revealing a graceful hip and one long leg as she slept only inches away from him. And slowly he began unb.u.t.toning his shirt until it dropped on the floor and lay there in a wet heap. He unzipped his pants and slipped them off with his shoes, and he stood next to her in his shorts and socks, and a moment later, they lay with the rest of his clothes next to her bed. And only the vast amount of liquor he had drunk kept him from getting a bigger erection. He came to life slowly, watching her, aching with desire, and the secret l.u.s.t he had hidden for years, but now she was old enough ... h.e.l.l, he could have years of her, his very own piece right at home ... before she grew up and moved out, and maybe after this she'd never want to. He groaned as he lay down on the bed beside her, and the cloud of boozy fumes he exhaled along with the stench of unwashed perspiration woke her.

"Hmm ..." She opened one eye, not sure where she was and then gave a gasp and leapt out of bed. But he was quicker than that and had taken a firm grasp of her nightgown. It tore right off her tall frame as he held it, and she stood naked and trembling before him, as he lay in her bed and watched her.

"My, my ... ain't that a purty sight, little Hillie?" She tried to cover her nakedness and she wanted to cry, or run, but she wasn't sure what to do. She just stood there, terrified. She knew that if she tried to run away, he'd catch her. "Come on back to bed, it's not time to get up yet. First Uncle Jack's got a few things to show you." She could see him long and hard and ominous where she'd been lying, and she was old enough to know what he intended to do to her, and she would die before she'd let him.

"Don't touch me!" She ran through the open doorway to the kitchen, and he followed her in the dark, stumbling and naked and slipping on the wet patches he had left on the floor moments earlier.

"Come on, ya little tramp ... you know what you want. And I'm going to give it to you." As he said it, he lunged for her arm, and tried to drag her back to her bedroom. But she fought like a cat, and scratched his face and his arm, trying to kick him as he dragged her.

"Let go of me!" She pulled herself free and almost made it to the back door before he caught her again, but for an instant she had time to reach out for something she suddenly remembered on the drainboard. She hid it carefully from him, and seemingly docile finally, she let him lead her back to her bedroom. It was a daring thing to do, but she would rather kill him than let him rape her.

"That's a good girl ... now you want ole Uncle Jack, don't ya, little Hillie ..." She said nothing in answer and he didn't seem to notice as he pushed her roughly back onto her bed and prepared to mount her, but with a sudden flash of silver he felt something cold and sharp and ugly pointing at his belly.

"If you touch me, I'll cut your b.a.l.l.s off ... and I mean it ..." Everything about her tone of voice said she did, and he believed her. He backed off just a fraction of an inch, and she followed him with the knife point. "Get out of my room."

"Fine, fine ... Christ ..." He muttered as he backed out of the room and almost fell over the threshold. "Put that thing away for chrissake, will you dammit?"

"Not till you're out of here." She was following him with the knife still pointed at his t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es, which seemed to worry him greatly.

"Little b.i.t.c.h ... that what they teach you in school these days? In my day, the girls were a h.e.l.l of a lot nicer." She didn't answer him and he backed away, and then suddenly he had slapped the knife out of her hand and slapped her so hard across the face that she fell against the opposite wall and she wasn't sure which hurt her most, her nose bleeding profusely all over her face, or the back of her head, which felt as though he had crushed it. "There you little b.i.t.c.h, how does that feel?"

She grunted and struggled to her feet, still h.e.l.lbent on protecting her virtue, but he wasn't interested in it anymore, he just wanted to punish her for humiliating him. He knew he could always get the rest of her later. h.e.l.l, there was nowhere for her to go. She was his now. He practically owned her.