straight-thinking processes, again, soon after the orgiastic, three-way, sexual debauchment… and she knew that she was right in refusing to continue. She was glad that her brother, Don, had agreed to take her away. In truth, she really didn't know what she would have done… if he had insisted, also, that she stay. His agreement had restored a measure of her faith in him, for there had been several instances in the last few days when she had been sure that he had betrayed her. At this point, he was all she had of her family. With a shudder she remembered why she had left the house that afternoon; it had been to escape possible molestation by the man she now knew to be her stepfather. She would have to tell Don… on the way back to that dismal house.
They were on Don's motorcycle, Charity mounted behind hanging on to her brother's waist as they roared, noisily, down the street away from the Donahue's house.
Putting her mouth close to Don's ear, she shouted above the roar of the engine, 'Don… I'm hungry. Can we stop somewhere…? Besides, I–I want to talk to you!'
'Sure!' he yelled back. 'I'll pull into the first place I see.'
Over a pair of tacos apiece, Charity, somewhat haltingly, confided in her brother, telling him of her very real fears about their father.
'I–I just know… that he's thinking it… a-and waiting for his chance to… d-do something t-to m-me…'
'Let's lay it out, Sis…!' Don said, bluntly. 'What you're saying is… you think the old man wants to get between your legs… right?'
She blushed. 'Y-Yes…'
'How do you know… has he said anything… done anything?'
'Well… n-no…' she admitted, 'but… th-there's something about the way h-he looks at m-me… like he was u-undressing me… mentally…'
Don recognized himself in her description… and it was his turn to flush, pinkly. Hell! The only difference between me and the old man is… I've already had her… twice! What he said to his sister was: 'That's possible… any man would flip for you… including him!'
'Will you… t-take care of m-me… Don… and make sure it n-never happens…?' she asked.
'Like how…?'
'Don't ever l-let him be alone w-with me!' she answered, with conviction.
'All right, Char…' he agreed. '… But, after all he is your father… and…'
'… And, you're m-my brother!' she cut in. 'A-And… it happened t-to us…'
'You're right… and you've made your point!'
'Then… y-you'll do it…?'
'Hell, yes!' he gritted. 'It's the least I can do for you… now!'
On the way home, Don stopped at a small hardware store in a shopping center. There, he bought a door- locking device that would enable Charity to lock her bedroom door from the inside.
'Hide it somewhere in your room,' her brother told her.
'Okay.'
'… And, yell like hell… if anything happens!'
'I–I will!'
'Good…! But, don't lock me out, Char…'
'I–I'll have to… Don! It can n-never, never happen… again!'
'Never's a long time!' he said.
'I know!'
They rode along in silence, each absorbed in thoughts of their own. It was Charity who spoke first. 'Don…?' she asked. 'How are we going to get into the house… w-without h-him knowing it…?'
'We'll go in through the back!'
Don turned off the avenue onto their street. Just before reaching the ramshackle house they had called home for so long, he silenced the engine and coasted into the driveway. Quickly, they dismounted, as Don parked the motor bike, and hurried around to the rear of the old house. Going in ahead of his sister, Don gingerly opened the kitchen door that gave onto the back porch. From there, he could see nor hear nothing. He signaled Charity to stay on the back porch.
Walking through the kitchen and dining room into the living room, he stopped short when he saw his father stretched out on the lumpy sofa. He seemed to be asleep, but as Don came a little closer, he realized the man was dead drunk.
'It's all right, Char!' he called out. 'He's laid out drunk… and sleeping it off!'
Charity came to stand beside her brother. She looked down at him where he lay like a lump of dough, slack- faced and unconscious. Her compassion for him came to the fore, even in the face of her strong revulsion.
'Oh, Donnie… he should be put to bed…'
'Hell… let him sleep it off here… where he passed out!'
'No… that sofa's uncomfortable… and he should be covered up… so…'
'That's something else, Sis! One minute you're afraid of him… scared to death he's going to try something with you… and the next, you're the all-American mother!' he grunted in disgust.
'He's still your father!'
Don glanced at her, puzzled by her strange statement. He's still YOUR father! Damn it! What does she mean?
It was but a heart's beat… and Charity realized what she had said. Quickly, she added, '… And mine, too…'
'Yeah… well, like maybe you're right… I'll help you put him to bed, then…'
Together, they half carried, half walked Gabe Scott into his bedroom. Don stripped off the drunken man's trousers and shirt; then, clad only in his underwear, they tucked him, snugly, into the double bed.
That task finished, Don picked up his father's garments to drape them across the back of the vanity chair. An envelope fluttered out of the shirt pocket, and as it lay on the floor, he recognized their mother's handwriting.
Charity recognized it, too! Swiftly, she swooped down to pick up the envelope. Oh! It's Mom's letter t-to me… a-and he found it! He knows… a-about m-me… now!
… But, Don was quicker. He scooped the letter from the floor, saw that it was addressed to his sister, but didn't surrender it to her.
'That's mine… D-Donnie!' Her face flushed, brightly. 'Give it t-to me!'
'I know… but it's Mom's writing!' he countered. '… And she did leave a note… didn't she!?'
'It's just for m-me! I–I don't know how he found it…'
'You hid it?' he queried. 'Why…?'
'… B-Because… i-it's personal…' she choked, twin tears appearing in her eyes.
Gabe Scott's intention to remain sober had gone down the drain, as so many things had with him, but now, lying in the bed, in his own bedroom, he swam back to partial consciousness through the fog of alcohol in his brain. Don and Charity were there, in the room, their voices somewhat strident as they argued about the note. Charity! She's back!
Raising himself on a none too steady elbow, he said, 'So… you li'l bastard bitch… you came back?'
Charity whirled to face him, horror-stricken; then without a word, she ran from the bedroom, through the living room, the dining room and into her own bedroom. Crossing to the connecting door to the bathroom, she shot the bolt, locking it, then digging the new door-locking device out of her purse, she fitted it to her bedroom door. Not until she was completely locked in did she remember that her brother still had the all-revealing letter in his possession.
Dear God! I–I hope Donnie d-doesn't read i-it… too.
Donnie had watched her as she fled, and when he heard her slide the bolt to the bathroom door, he turned back to face his father on the bed where he struggled with the blankets trying to sit up. He mumbled, 'Where'd she go?'
'She's gone to her room… Dad…'
