The look in his eyes was terrifying. You can’t trust him.”

“I agree.”

“Good. Then it’s settled,” she says. “Thank God!”

She sits beside me, gives my mouth a quick kiss, then leans back to see how I’ll respond.

I say, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“How zonked is your mom?”

Her face brightens. “Let’s put it this way: we could use her body for a dance floor!”

“Would it wake her up if I took a shower in your room?”

She takes my hand in hers, flashes that same sly smile I saw earlier and says, “It wouldn’t even wake her up if I took a shower with you.”

I let that comment hang in the air long enough for her to consider the appropriateness of having felony sex in the same hotel room where her mom is sleeping, on the same night her dad committed suicide. Then I say, “Maybe we should test that theory.”

“I’d love to!” she says.

8.

6:15 a.m.

AS THE FIRST woman in the room to open her eyes, I get home field advantage. That means I can lie here and take stock of the situation, get my bearings, hide all evidence of wrong-doing, and generally prevent any potential problems I’d have to solve later. First things first: how do I feel, physically?

Not great. I’m sore as hell. Michael really did a number on me. I take a moment to wonder again why I didn’t fight him off. It’s almost as if I wanted him to hurt me, and…perhaps I did. I’m sure some part of me felt I deserved to be punished for my despicable behavior. For my cold-hearted planning and scheming. For stringing Michael along all these months. For being at least partially responsible for his father’s death.

As for Jess, I can’t help but notice her hand is cupping my boob, and to my surprise, I like it. I’m on my back, she’s on her side, her lips parted, and her mouth just inches from my nostrils. This is worth noting because it doesn’t seem possible her breath could be so sweet and pleasant when every morning mine is rancid enough to repel a rabid wolverine. I assume this is a happy byproduct of her age. Speaking of morning breath, while mine is typically horrendous, this morning it’s even worse than usual. I slide my tongue across my teeth and swallow, thinking Why are my lips so swollen? What in God’s name is that taste in my mouth? Did I eat someth—

Oh.

Right.

I look at Jess.

Could I go to jail for that?

Probably.

But if nothing else, we made a memory. And Jess was right: her mom slept through the whole thing. Completely missed her daughter’s first orgasm. Because of what Michael did to me we kept the lovemaking mostly about welcoming Jessie to the grownup’s table: she kissed me from the waist up and I kissed her from the waist down and we both got what we needed. Having said that, I’m finding myself looking forward to the next time, if there is one.

So she’s sleeping and Alison’s sleeping, and I’m feeling around under the covers to make sure I’m wearing my T-shirt and panties and…I am.

That being the case, whose Hello Kitty panties are these?

Two guesses.

I lift my head to make sure Alison’s still sleeping.

She is.

I need to wake Jessie up, get her hand off my boob, get her panties back on her body before Alison wakes up and discovers how close her daughter and I have grown since her husband’s death.

9.

7:20 a.m.

AFTER LEAVING JESS in her room, I head to mine and try to enter quietly, but apparently Michael set the latch because the door only opens a couple of inches before making a huge racket.

“Michael?”

“What?”

“Can you let me in, please?”

“I thought you wanted to be elsewhere.”

I sigh. Is there anything worse than a GMP (Grown Man Pouting)? And while we’re on the subject, as I’m standing here in the hall, how about we address his behavior toward me: I tried to console him last night and he assaulted me. I wanted to take away his pain even as he wanted to inflict pain on me, the woman he supposedly loves and wants to spend the rest of his life with. Then he found me with his sister and became furious that I “abandoned” him (when he needed me most).

Abandoned him?

Who wouldn’t abandon a rapist after being raped? Only a fool would go back to the scene of the crime, angry as Michael was, after what he’d done. Let’s not forget, this is the same guy who claims to worry about my safety and lectures me about how men can’t be trusted, and how I’m oblivious to their glances and lewd remarks. He’s the one who goes through that whole verbal checklist about what I should and shouldn’t do when he’s not around.