." Don't you write?" No. We ... thought it best to ... well, I'm really not good enough for her, and she's going to be really busy, you see. We're goi...g to move in different worlds, Chrissie and I, so... " his voice trailed off uncertainly. "Ever since I first saw one of these ships, I wanted nothing more than to sail, to spend my life with them. Chrissie ... she's a musician. A really gifted one. She sailed with us, you know, each summer, playing and singing for the punters, but ... she's. “You’re so cute when you blush, Johana,” she said, cupping my cheeks. She gave me a quick kiss. “Mmm, you’re going to be a popular futa once this gets out. No wonder coach chose you.”Not only was my mother, Molly Jordan, a health teacher, but she also coached the cheerleaders. Our school was small, and all the athletic positions were held by teachers, mostly PE ones.“Oh, you didn’t... ?” I swallowed.“Didn’t what?” Genevieve arched a black eyebrow at me, her blue eyes glistening. Her round. He’d been driving a rig for the last dozen of his forty-two years, spending the greatest part of the year on the road crossing from one side of the country to the other.He was tall with a broad chest and arms that bulged against shirt sleeves which were always too tight. Reddish brown curly hair peeked out from where the top three buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned. In many women’s opinions his quiet, brute masculinity made up for any lack of handsomeness he might suffer.He’d left Baton Rouge. “Barry, go in the kitchen and clean yourself up.” I did as she asked and she closed the door behind me. I tried to hear what they were saying, but the conversation was in whispered tones.When I had dressed, I knocked on the door. “Come in.” it was Aunt Dorrie’s voice. I entered and there was no sign of Uncle Jimmy. I assume he had gone upstairs as his clothes were still on the floor.“Listen Barry, I want you to promise that you won’t say anything about this to anyone.” I promised. “You must.