Karen called, "I love you, Dad, as much as hooking the biggest fish in the lake." She turned to me. "Sarah, enough to miss Christmas." But she wouldn't say the magic word.
None the less, I remained ecstatic at our mother and daughter relationship. The extended nights gave us opportunity to talk, and we took full advantage of our time together. While I worried my answers were far too candid, I felt the progress we'd made justified my boldness telling her more than prudence would dictate.
"Any questions?" I asked on our only night of rain, when everyone had retired early, including Woof who slept at our feet. The sound on our canvas was soothing and muffled our voices even more than usual. No need to whisper.
"Have you ever been with a woman?" Karen asked.
"Are we playing 'stump the mom' again?" I turned to hug her but my arms were pinned in my sleeping bag.
"It's step mom," she corrected. "Are you invoking the 'privacy' clause?"
"I'm not bailing out at all. I just want you to be specific so there's less chance of a misinterpretation." Embarrassment crept into her voice but she gave it another try.
She sighed. "You know, like had sex, or done whatever those kinds of women do." She added, "God, Sarah, don't you dare tell Dad I even know this stuff!"
"Where did you hear about it?"
"A book." I tried to remember what she'd been reading. Her taste in literature was expanding like a balloon and I'd have to be careful in what I recommended. "You won't tell dad I asked?"
"Of course not. Even if I did tell him, he'd understand your curiosity. It's natural. "And , no, I haven't but I thought about it lots of times."
"Really?" She was shocked. I felt she asked the question to demonstrate her recently acquired knowledge and never expected an answer."
"We're being honest here, aren't we? Sure, I thought about it. Just like I'm sure you have. We're both curious by nature. I wondered what it would be like, but I can assure you I'm heterosexual. I like men. Especially your father. Actually, only your father." I freed my arms and gave her a squeeze. "What made you ask?"
"Kids in school say Ms. Polumbo the gym teacher is a dyke."
"That's a derogatory and hurtful term. Did we miss that one in our dirty word class? Ms. Polumbo's life style is her own business and gossiping about someone is unkind."
"I know. I didn't say it."
"Do you want to talk about lesbianism? Honest, private talk," I prompted.
"I guess." It came out a shade above a whisper."