. fiddle. She pulled her hand away, again tracing her finger along the edge of her blouse, pulling it up and away.She opened her eyes again. “Let me...know when we get near the corner,” she asked quietly, referring to the point far ahead around which we should sight the island we were heading for our lunch break.I nodded, not questioning why she was almost whispering. I knew that Dad would turn around and announce the island as soon as he saw it and might find it odd that Mom was laying there. I walked to the booth and the closer I got, I found Chris’ eyes not on me, but down at the level of my hands. My left hand was relaxed and open. My right hand, though, was balled in a fist.I had been rehearsing what I might say to them as I laid the tiny thong on the table, but nothing seemed to sound right. The more I worked at it, the less comfortable and realistic it sounded. I decided to wing it and be natural.I came up to the table and stood at the edge. My left hand went out to keep Chris. More

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