I felt satisfied my new strategy of getting closer to this illusive young lady was working. She'd often follow me to my room after Timmy was in bed, especially when Paul was late getting home from Boston or sometimes in the afternoon when the two of us were alone. She'd plop down in the love chair and I'd join her. I knew she wanted to test our honesty new pact but I didn't push her. I was pleased she sought my opinion more often now and recently her surely mood was absent. We had long and pleasant conversations but nothing truly personal was discussed.
Karen and I both read incessantly and we began sharing books and discussing them. Once she found the joy of literature her tastes expanded to far broader horizons than Latin classics.
"Did your mother make you read?" she asked one warm afternoon.
"She didn't have to. I learned early on adults that have their own world and kids are pretty much excluded from it. Then I discovered adults wrote about their world in books, especially good books. I learned from books, and a mother who'd answer any of my questions honestly. It was a nice combination." Later that evening our love chair honesty sessions began in earnest.
I was sitting up in bed reading when Karen came in the room. I knew she was nervous but I smiled as she closed my bedroom door.
"I can leave if you're busy," she said.
"Nope. I've got all night. Your father is entertaining some business guys in Boston."
"Remember what you said," she asked as she plopped into the love chair, "About our honesty pact?" She nodded. "Sure. Do you have another question?"
"This is embarrassing," she grumbled.
"No such thing between us honesty-pact participants," I answered, sliding out of bed and squeezing into the chair beside her. "Nothing has to be uncomfortable between us. Give it your best shot."
She took a deep breath. "People, especially married people sometimes . . . hump, right?"
"Yes. Would it help you to know a bit more what 'humping' is?"
"Of course I know," she answered, muffled against me. "That's how they make babies."
I hid my smile. "Well, your father and I are finished making babies. I told you I couldn't have children. Now I have two perfect ones. That's enough."
"But you didn't make them."
"No. That doesn't mean I love them any less." I didn't receive the usual chastisement for saying I loved her. "Is this about what you said you heard the other night; our 'humping' ?"
"I was just fibbing. Mary Ellen said she heard her mother doing it. But her mother is younger and maybe she wants more kids. I just said that about hearing you and Dad. I'm sorry I fibbed; lied, I guess."