My husband has not yet arrived home. There was a message left near the phone written by my daughter that her daddy won’t be home until late afternoo.... It’s obvious and I know. I have to examine myself if there lays a hurt feeling inside me. But I couldn’t sense it. Maybe because we’re even. My husband fucking Dan’s wife, and Dan fucking me. But no. What I feel is a wonderful thing. My heart beats faster and faster every time the clock goes closer to night time. Then my husband arrived. It’s the. His mind wandered in retrospect to the better days of his youth, before his fall. Garland Jones grew up with his father and grandfather, who were both traveling preachers of moderate means. They put up tent revivals throughout the south, eking out a living from the donations they received passing the plate after a few hymns were sung just before their tag team style sermons. By the age of 8, young Garland himself was preaching. In fact, he was soon drawing much larger crowds than either his. A vaulted ceiling, tawny colored unfinished wood. Heavy pine furniture that projected a strong male presence. Three doors and two windows. Bob had disappeared through one. The others must be a bathroom and closet, she thought. A small writing table off to her left and she noticed the glow of a computer screen. Could be a way to communicate, she decided. Suddenly Bob appeared. ‘Time to get ready,’ his voice cheery as if they were getting ready to go out on a date for the evening. She could. Now, you nuzzle me again. I stir. I feel you tremble and you begin to weep. ‘What’s the matter, darling.’ ‘Daddy – don’t ever leave me.’ ‘No – no’ ‘Every day I will sit in the chair by your piano while you work. I’ll do my homework while you write.’ ‘Yes, darling.’ ‘I want you to get a portrait made of me. I want it to hang in the hall with the rest – or over the mantle in the great room.’ ‘Of course, darling.’ ‘I want babies – six or so.’ I hesitated – ‘Grad school first.’ ‘Whatever. I will.
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