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off with another man, leaving her children with their drunken father. Seven months later, she'd returned to the family with a big, round belly. Her husband had accepted her back and graciously accepted the bastard. He had been a hell of a lot more forgiving of her misdeeds than the town had been.
    No one forgot. No one pretended to not care about their business. Everyone distanced themselves from the scandalous family, but then Carver went off and fell in love with the eldest daughter. It had shamed Mother in the eyes of our little community. Instead of blaming Carver for making a poor choice, she had placed all the blame on Mary-Alice's shoulders.
    Things hadn't gotten better when word got out that Mary-Alice was pregnant. Mother firmly believed that the young seductress had trapped the lustful Carver into marriage. She was right, of course. Mary-Alice had spread her legs, hoping to fuck her way into a good family. I had firsthand knowledge of her aspirations.
    We drove in silence past several farms, including the sheriff's house and our uncle's place. We sped past the peach trees and cotton fields. We passed the wooded road that led to the Colsen's farm, an old run-down shack that people said was haunted. No one liked to look too hard at that place. It was as if staring at it too hard might result in an early demise.
    Yet, it was all beautiful to me, and I had taken it all for granted. Every spot had been familiar to me as a boy. Now my eyes sought out every landmark, searching out small things I might not have noticed before. Overseas, I had slept in beds that had once belonged to noblemen and their wives. I had ransacked the cellars of ancient estates. I had hidden in the opulent rooms of esteemed clergymen. None of that was as beautiful and appreciated as my home.
    "How does this compare to ol' Europe?" Carver asked. He and I had grown up very close. We were each other's best friend. He had long ago learned how to read my moods and thoughts. As he steered the truck onto the gravel road that led to his house, he chuckled. I noticed Mary-Alice standing outside, pinning the laundry to the line. Hearing the truck pull onto the drive, she turned towards us and waved happily.
    The truck had barely stopped when Mary-Alice grabbed the door handle and pulled it open. I stepped out and her arms locked around me. I tried to pull away, but she managed to tighten her grip even more. I felt her breasts press against my chest; her nipples were pebbled and her breathing was shallow. I glanced down into her face.
    She was a pretty woman with light gray eyes and mousy brown hair. She used to dye it a platinum blond, but it fell out once, and she never bothered with the dye again. That had humbled her vanity a bit.
    Peeking at me through her blackened, curly lashes, she spread her full, red lips and I recognized the message there. Since the first moment I met her, I knew if I crooked my finger at my brother's wife, she would come to me. Quite willingly.
    I glanced in my brother's direction. His eyes were unshadowed as he smiled at us. I couldn't tell if he was happy that at least his brother liked his wife, or if he was uncomfortable from the overly exuberant hug.
    "Where's my little nephew?" I asked, needing to end the awkward reunion. It would be the first time I'd see the boy.
    There had been another child. Molly. She had died not long after I first dropped into France, about a year ago. Mother had written to tell me of the child's death.
    Her death had been Mary-Alice's ultimate sin. Little Molly had been left unattended in the bathtub as Mary-Alice listened to her favorite radio program in the living room. When Mary-Alice had finally remembered the little girl in her bath, it was far too late. She'd found Molly floating face down in the shallow water.
    I could still envision Molly's pretty gray eyes and pale blond hair. I had been there when she was born. I had hovered over her small body, scrutinizing every tiny feature. I had been at