The Stake

She took off her blouse and checked herself in the mirror. Sure enough, the side panel of the bra was pressing against her bruised ribs.

She reached back, unclasped the bra and pulled it off. Holding it between her knees, she slipped into her blouse again. She buttoned it, tucked it in, and fastened her jeans.

She smiled at herself.

Aren’t you the daring one?

The soft fabric, taut against her breasts, felt very good.

Should do this all the time, she thought.

No way. With most of her blouses, it would show. But this one had dark, bright colors, and a pocket over each breast. With the double thickness of the fabric there, it was hardly even noticeable that her nipples were erect.

Nobody’ll know the difference, she thought. Just me.

It sure does feel good.

She turned in a circle once for a final check, then returned her bra to the dresser drawer. Grabbing her handbag, she headed down the hallway.

What if Mom and Dad notice?

They won’t. Ease up.

The aromas of bacon and coffee made her mouth water as she entered the kitchen. Her parents, still in their robes, were seated at the table, bacon and fried eggs on then-plates. “What’s with breakfast?” she asked. “This doesn’t feellike Sunday.”

They both looked at her. Neither seemed interested in her chest.

“I’ll be spending the day at the public library,” Dad said. “Mom figured she oughta fill me up.”

“Yeah, I’d hate for him to perish among the tomes.”

Stepping up beside her father, Lane said, “You could sustain yourself with bookworms.”

“Come on, I’m eating.”

“Mind?” she asked, and reached for a strip of bacon on his plate.

He jabbed his fork at her hand. He stopped just short of poking her.

“I wish you wouldn’t fool around like that,” Mom complained. “You might slip.”

“I might indeed,” he said.

Lane took the bacon and bit it in half.

“There goes my nourishment.”

“Hey, I’m a growing girl.”

“I could certainly start making breakfasts for you,” Mom said. “Just say the word.”

“The word is ‘yuck.’ Who can stomach food at this ungodly hour?”

“You seem to be stomaching my bacon all right,” Dad said.

“Gotta go.” She bent down and kissed his cheek. He swatted her rump. She hurried around the table, kissed her mother, then grabbed her lunch bag out of the refrigerator and hurried from the kitchen. “See you guys later. I’ll probably be late again.”

“Have a good day, dear,” Mom called after her.

From Dad, “Have fun.”

“I’m going to school, guys,” she called from the living room. She checked her book bag, dropped her lunch inside, then took the car keys from her purse and rushed outside.

The sun felt warm on her shoulders. The mild breeze stirred her hair. A gorgeous day.

The back of the car seat was cool through her blouse, reminding Lane of the missing straps. As she waited for the engine to warm up, she squirmed against the upholstery, savoring how it felt against her back.

Nice.

She cranked her window down and eased slowly out of the driveway.

She headed for Betty’s place. On the radio Anne Murray was singing “Snowbird.” Lane joined in. She swung her arm onto the windowsill and felt the blouse pull snug against her left breast.

Very nice.

Steering with one hand, she swung the car around a corner.

“Snowbird” ended.

A jingle came on signaling the start of a news break.

“This is Belinda Bernard with the top local news stories of the hour.”

“Top of the morning, Belinda,” Lane said.

“... died in a fire early this morning in their Cactus Drive home.”

Lane glanced at the radio. Cactus Drive? Died in a fire?

“The deceased were identified as Jerry and Roberta Patterson and their seventeen-year-old daughter Jessica.”

“My God,” Lane muttered.

“Flames were first noted by neighbors at approximately four-thirty A.M. Firemen arriving at the scene were unable to enter the house to attempt any rescue. Due to the heavy conflagration, however, it’s believed that the family expired from smoke inhalation some time prior to the arrival of the fire department. This was confirmed later, when the bodies of the three family members were found in the rubble, still in their beds. The cause of the fire is under investigation, but it is believed that it started in the bedroom of the daughter, Jessica.”

Smoking in bed? Lane wondered.

“The Board of Education met last night...”

She turned off the radio.

She felt cold and numb inside.

Jessica dead.

The girl’d been a royal pain, but God! Dead.

How could something like that happen?

Jessica smoked like a chimney. Spent half her life in the girl’s John, puffing away. She must’ve fallen asleep with a cigarette.

Didn’t they have a smoke alarm?

Lane rounded a corner. Betty was waiting beside the street. Lane stopped the car, stretched across the passenger seat and unlocked the door.

“Did you hear?” Betty asked, swinging the door open.

“Yeah.”

“Holy smoke!” She hurled her book bag into the rear and dropped onto the seat. The car shook. “I knew that bimbo’d come to a bad end.” She slammed the door.

“She’s dead,” Lane muttered.

“Well Jesus, I guess so.”

Lane stepped on the gas. “She didn’t deserve that.”

“Smoking in bed, it’ll get you every time.”

“God, I can’t believe it.”

“I can. Boy, I sure can. Good riddance to bad rubbish. Know what happened yesterday? I went to take a leak after third period, and there she was, sitting on a John with the door wide open, sucking on a butt. I go, ‘Those things’ll give you cancer, you know.’ And she gives me this look.“ Betty demonstrated, wrinkling her nose and curling up her lip. ”And she goes, ‘Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, lardass.’ So like I can’t say I feel any great amount of sympathy, you know? She did it to herself.“

“And her parents.”

“Yeah. Too bad Riley Benson wasn’t sleeping over. That piece of greasy-haired shit would be improved considerably by a good dose of smoke inhalation. Know what I mean?”

Lane nodded. It seemed wrong, knocking Jessica and Riley. But she didn’t feel like defending them. They werecreeps.

She wondered if Riley might actually have been in love with Jessica.

Hard to imagine him loving anyone.

But maybe he did.