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“Let me check.” His paws tugged the top of my blouse open without ripping it. My right thigh felt something stiff poking from his groin! “I don’t care anymore.”
“I figured you wouldn’t.” He used both hands to pull down my panties. “I don’t even think that word!” Finally, I had something to stand up to him about. I wanted to cry again. His lips sucked, and his teeth scraped. Instead of Mommy or Daddy, she spat her first word at her brother, “Dummy!” A few weeks later, he called her, “Baybee,” Mangling and drawing out the word. Snot soiled empty hands. My womb served them up on schedule, but there was no joy in the Fairchild family. “There’s a man in my car.” I babbled.
