I always liked redheaded Liz next door on the other side from Cassie, but about sixth grade she moved away and some people bought her house and planted all the field with blueberries.And Hannah. Well, her dad was transferred after sixth grade. How far away didn’t make a difference. I was twelve years old. I’d seen her at my mother’s funeral fifteen years ago. She gave me a hug. Somewhere in my files, maybe buried beneath an old manuscript, I had her phone number. I’d had a severe crush on her in grade school. After she moved, I blew her a kiss out my window each night before I went to bed. For years.Out of all the kids, I was the religious one. At least that’s the way it felt. I went to church on Sunday morning, Sunday evening, and Wednesday evening. And any other time something was happening at the church. Yes, I really did have a sixteen-year perfect attendance pin for Sunday School. And I won every ‘sword drill’ the Sunday School teachers could toss at us. I went to what I found. “We have a busy day tomorrow,” I remarked. Tammy looked at the clock. “What if we call in stupid?” Tammy asked. I laughed. One of us had to cover the office. “No one will know,” Tammy remarked. I looked at the empty beer bottles on the table. “We’re out of beer,” I said. “I have wine,” Tammy replied. She hopped up from the couch and sauntered over to her pass-through window between the living room and the kitchen. Her short robe barely covered the creases of her small butt. She grabbed a bottle of wine, turned and faced me. “Think you can handle it?” she asked, holding the bottle of wine in her hand. I had to smile. “I can handle it,” I replied. Tammy sat a wine glass on the coffee table between us and bent over to pour. Her robe parted enough for me to catch a great view of her firm and luscious-looking boobs. She handed me the glass and I watched as she poured her own. Standing up, her wine glass in one hand and the bottle in the other, she asked, “To what should we toast?” A.
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