237.

Face Washed, Teeth Brushed Puke free, I emerge from the bathroom, into a house silent but for Daddy's impressive snores. Now that I've evacuated my stomach, I can swallow the Oxy I borrowed for myself.

Pop the pill, chase it with whiskey, crawl into bed. Pray such seduction brings dreamless sleep. Seems to take a long time for the sleep aid to kick in. As I wait, I feel good about aiding **

Kaeleigh's salvation tonight. Too many times in the past, I've stood by, powerless to interfere. They say an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. There is no cure for Daddy.

Let's hear it for prevention! Of course, it's not like you can always tell what Daddy has in mind. I suppose there must be triggers that bring him to Kaeleigh's bedside.

If only they were more recognizable!

My body slides toward sleep, but my brain, though fogging a bit at the edges, is working overtime. The gathering haze does not conceal memories of another night. Kaeleigh was ten.

238.

Mom Was Off on a Retreat Like any of that spiritual mumbo jumbo ever did her (or any of us) one miniscule sliver of good.

Daddy had been back to Kaeleigh for "lollipop licking" (my term) a few times. She had a vague notion that it **

was "wrong," but she wasn't sure why, and didn't know who to ask.

They'd probably just be jealous.

That warm summer night, she slept in a thin white nightie, nothing more, nothing at all under. The moon, full, **

shimmered against the tan of her exposed skin, and her hair whispered over the pillow like a pale waterfall.

As usual, the smell of Wild Turkey preceded Daddy. In the bright moonlight, you could see Kaeleigh cringe in shallow **

sleep. Daddy crept through the door, to the side of her bed, stood looking down for a very long time before stirring 239.

her with a volley of kisses. Cheeks.

Forehead. Lips.

Oh, little girl. Do you know how beautiful you are?

No one was ever as lovely as you, not even your mother when she was a child. I can't believe you're mine.

Kaeleigh roused at his words, came into the moment, secure in the aura of Daddy's love.

She tried to sit up, but Daddy pushed her gently back down against the mattress.

Stay just **

like that for Daddy. I want to teach you something new.

He lifted her nightgown, **

rolled it up over her belly, coaxed her Thoroughbred legs apart.

She squirmed, a paltry protest.

Don't move!

Daddy's scarlet face underlined his command.

I thought he might smack her.

240.

But as quickly as his anger flared, it dissipated, smoke.

Don't be afraid. This won't **

hurt. You'll like it. I promise.

He kissed the length of her torso, down to the small, naked V.

It was only his mouth that night. He didn't even ask her to touch him, prove **

how much she loved him.

Afterward, she worried.

Didn't he want her love **

anymore? What had she done wrong? And yet, he had taught her something new. Something awful.

241.

Worse, Something wonderful.

Something every girl should know the joy of, though, of course, she shouldn't learn it from Daddy.

At ten, it isn't exactly easy to separate good touch from bad touch, proper love from improper love, doting daddy from perv.

242.

But Tonight Will Be Perv-Free Hugged by my ostentatiously thick mattress, falling fast, faster toward blessed sleep, or in my case, more likely the sleep of the damned, the space behind my eyes is covered by a dark collage.

Bodies. Smiles. Leers. Faces.

Some familiar, some not, as if they are people I've yet to meet, or maybe have already met in another lifetime. One face truly haunts me. I'm sure I.

knew her once upon a time.

Her hair is a rich mahogany, her eyes vivid green, like those of a wildcat. Where do I know her from? And why do I feel such a connection, if I can't even recognize her face? I so want to understand the truth of her, of "us." Yes, wanting and getting are two different things. But intuition tells me this puzzle needs to be solved.

243.

Kaeleigh Daddy's Still Asleep At seven a.m. Wonder if I should wake him before I leave for school.

I'm guessing it's a case of damned if I do, damned if I don't. He's going to have a major headache, though he probably won't have a decent clue why. Then again, if I let him oversleep, he'll be mad at me, too. It's not like a judge can just call in sick, unless he's on his deathbed.

I.

will probably die before he does.

Dying, for Daddy, would be the ultimate defeat. But death doesn't scare me. To know exactly when I might expect it, up close and in my face, would actually be a comfort. Because to tell the truth, most of the time dying seems pretty much like my only means of escape.

244.

Not Right Now, Though Not with the election looming.

No use ruining that for Mom.

Although maybe if something bad happened to me, something **

bad enough to make me die, she'd win the sympathy vote.

Never mind. She'd probably be too distracted with the funeral **

and the burial and the incredible after-the-graveyard party and...

Pht-pht-pht.

Rewind that old film to another funeral. Ugh.

Don't want to go there. Don't want to see that coffin, or go **

to the post-service pot luck.

I huddled alone in one corner, **

trying desperately to ignore the gut-churning potpourri **

of smells: tuna casserole, over- cooked broccoli, onion laced 245.

salads. Booze, in assorted flavors.

Flowers. Didn't know all their names.

But their combined perfumes smelled like death. Mom sat on **

an overstuffed sofa, vacant-eyed, silently sipping vodka on the rocks.

Daddy gulped whiskey, and might have passed out quietly except...

Someone stumbled through the door, wearing an aura of Scotch and a marble **

expression on her face--the one I just barely remember. She went straight up **

to her son.

You!

She shoved him into the wall.

L-look at you, Raymond.