In the morning, the treehouse is inconvenient; no shower and we needed one. So, out the door, across the deck and over the bridge, through the portcullis, down the stairs, across the lawn that needed mowing and in the back door. The jungle ... lawn ... yard ... we need sheep or a lawn mower ... and someone to push it.I heard Grace laugh, "I'm first." Wash your back?" I suggested."David, as much as I'd like that, you're my brother." Just offering." Just refusing."I'll have to say this for Grace, she's not shy and I wish she were. Watching those bare breasts and cheeks of alabaster, it's been a while since she's laid out, as she stripped for the shower ... ah ... Rosie Palmer and her five daughters. I was done before Grace was.Grace was moaning and groaning in the shower, doing what I had been doing. A mini finish and she stepped out. Clean Grace..."Looks like you washed very thoroughly, sister mine." Looks like you still have a drop hanging, brother dear."We traded places, I brushed up. Before it started.” She slowly toppled forward on to her arms, sobbing. This was a totally different mother to the somewhat distant, intensely intellectual person she had seemed until now.I reached across and stroked her hair. After a minute or so, she sat up, pulling a hanky from her sleeve to dab her tears and blow her nose. She reached over and took my hand.“Thank you, Will.”“You’ve stopped it now, mummy, that’s all that really matters.”“That’s very kind of you to say that, but I failed to protect you. That’s what mothers are for and I failed you.”I could see she was winding herself in guilt. I started stroking her hand.“Please don’t do that, mummy. Please don’t lose yourself in guilt.” I gave her hand a squeeze and she looked at me. “It’s over. You stopped it.”“Oh, Will.”Our gazes locked. “Thank you, Will.” I gave her hand another squeeze. We stayed like that for several long seconds, then my mother leaned back in her chair and gathered herself together.“You really need to share.
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