Family Ties

“It’s a rhetorical question,” I said, as dispassionately as I could. “And so are the others. I don’t want an answer. I just want you to think about it. And I’m totally not judging you, one way or the other. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said warily.

“So— just to think about—do you love everyone you have sex with? And do you have sex with everyone you love?”

“I don’t—”

I put my finger to her lips. “Just think about it. I’m fine if we never talk about it again. Fair enough?”

She nodded.

“Okay. Now, are you ready to change clothes?” She nodded, so I lifted my finger.

“I’ll wait outside,” she said.

“Why? You’ve seen me before. I’m the nudist, remember? I’m going to keep my boxers on anyway. So stay.” I paused and then gave her a wink.

“Besides, I like showing off.”

“You certainly do it enough.”

“What can I say? I also like you watching.”

She tried not to smile but eventually gave it up.

I changed out of my jeans and pullover sweater and into khakis and a Polo button-down.

“Are you going to put the sweater back on?” she asked.

“I hadn’t planned to. It isn’t that cold out. Why?”

She picked it up and handed it back to me. “Put it around your shoulders.”

I did, and she tied the arms in a loose knot on my chest. Then she reached up to straighten a wrinkle on my shoulder.

“There,” she said. “Much better.”

“Thanks. Now… your turn.”

She waited for me to leave. I still didn’t move, so she glanced at the door.

“You know we’re going to spend the night together, right?”

“Yes.”

“So… I was kinda hoping for a sneak peek.”

“No.”

“Not even one little one?”

“No.” She crossed her arms.

“Not even a quick flash?”

“Will you get out?” She shoved me bodily toward the door. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

I grinned and checked my watch. “Okay. See you in fifteen.”

“Make it twenty,” she said, just to be contrary.

Christy was the last to join us. Susan, Mom, Erin, and I were already waiting by the car. We all turned to look as she emerged from the room, and my heart skipped a beat at the sight of her. She wore a tight turquoise sweater over a mid-length black pencil skirt, with black hose and black heels. She’d done her hair and makeup as well.

She looked beautiful, but in a subtle way instead of being flashy. She reminded me of her mother, especially when she waited for me to give her a hand down from the small porch. Her high heels sank into the sandy soil, but she didn’t need me for balance. She’d done it simply because we were together, a couple.

Doug and Olivia pulled up behind us in their rental car, which was our sign to climb into Susan’s station wagon. We were among the first to arrive at the funeral home. We signed the guestbook and then offered our condolences to Gunny’s widow, Lenore, and her sister and brother-in-law.

Finally, we paid our respects at the casket. Gunny was laid out with his dress uniform and medals, row after row of them. He looked good, but I felt guilty because I couldn’t think of anything to say. Christy said a quiet prayer and then crossed herself. She came away with tears in her eyes, so I put my arm around her and escorted her to join the others.

We spent the next couple of hours making small talk with people who’d known Gunny. Mr. Nelson was there, along with several other people I recognized from camp. They looked a lot older than I remembered. Most of them were retirees in their seventies or eighties, people who’d joined the camp when Susan’s parents still ran it.

Afterward we went to dinner in town, and the mood gradually turned from somber to happy as we laughed and reminisced. Doug had grown up with Gunny as a surrogate father, and he regaled us with stories.

“I remember one time I was coming home from work,” he said. “It was late, almost midnight, and the road from town was empty. The moon must’ve been full, ’cause I turned off my headlights and floored it. I hit a hundred, easy, and was just about to slow down to make the turn when blue lights started flashing behind me.”

Susan’s eyebrows went up.

“Yeah,” Doug said. “The sheriff pulled me over and was reading me the riot act. He threatened to throw me under the jail. You remember Sheriff Henderson?”

“Oh, I remember him,” Susan said. She explained to the rest of us, “The

sheriff and I never really got on. He was an old-school chauvinist. He wanted me and the camp out of his county. Unfortunately—for him, that is—I had way too much clout and political savvy. I’m sure it drove him bonkers to be constantly outmaneuvered by a woman.” She looked at her son. “So, what did he do?”

“Took one look at my driver’s license and asked if I was related to you. I told him I was your son, so he asked if I knew Gunny. He threatened to tell him if he ever caught me speeding again.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. Didn’t write me a ticket or anything. And I kept my foot off the gas for a month. Drove like a little old lady on Sunday.”

“He should’ve told me,” Susan said.

“I got the impression he didn’t want to deal with you.”

“He got the short end of the stick every time he did.”