Chapter 4 – Absence Makes Heart Grow Fonder
You couldn't exactly call the Penney home a mansion, but it nearly qualified; there was no curved driveway or turnaround leading to the front door and there were no iron gates blocking the entrance. Maureen had driven Corey from school on Wednesday afternoon in a late model, sparkling Ford Mustang. Corey eyed the homes of the affluent families as they approached the Penney house among seventy- and eighty-year-old huge homes that lined a bluff overlooking a frigid and forbidding Lake Michigan.

The girl led Corey into the back entrance of the home after parking her car on the slab leading to a two-story brick and stucco coach house sporting three garage doors.

"No we don't keep horses here, Corey," Maureen quipped as she opened the back door.

As they passed into the kitchen, Corey fully expected to see a cook and perhaps a housemaid, but was surprised to see an aproned Mrs. Penney surrounded by baking pans, mixing bowls and the other utensils, apparently in the midst of creating a cake or something.

"Oh, you kids, I didn't expect you so soon," she said as she saw Maureen and Corey enter. "I must look a sight."

"Oh, mom, why did you start that now when you knew Corey was coming?" Maureen said in a petulant tone.

"That's all right, Mrs. Penney, I have time," Corey said quickly.

"The batter's made, kids, so I can just set it aside and put it in the oven later. Give me about ten minutes."

Maureen led Corey into the family living room, a huge space with tasteful, but hardly ostentatious furniture. There was a grand piano in one corner of the room and one wall was lined with books. Corey could see they were not put there for decoration; the volumes were an eclectic mixture of novels, histories and art books that appeared to have been read. There was no visible television set.

"I'd say, let's watch television, but mom and dad will permit no TV in here," Maureen said.

"This is quite a place, but your mom does her own cooking? You don't have a cook or maid or anything like that?" He asked.

Maureen laughed: "Hardly. Mom and dad thought all of us kids needed to be brought up like other kids. Only a cleaning service every other week, and mom even balks at that."

"So you're not like 'Downton Abbey?'"

"No, and us kids always had chores, too."

Corey laid out three books of fashions on the coffee table as they awaited Emily’s arrival. To shortcut the process he had tagged several sections of the book that he knew would appeal to the woman so that she wouldn’t have to look through hundreds of outfits.

"Wow, you've done your homework for this, Corey," Maureen said.

It was nearly twenty minutes later, when Emily Penney finally entered the room; she had obviously prettied herself up in the interim, even changing into a short, somewhat clinging dress that flattered her exquisite body. Corey was surprised to see that Emily Penney was exactly his same height of five and one-half feet when she wore flats. At the reception she had appeared taller, likely because of her heels.

Maureen got up to leave the room, but Corey asked her to stay.

"You can do your mom's measurements for me, Maureen," he said.

He was wary about putting his hands on the older woman, which would have been necessary for him to measure her body.

"That's all right, Corey," Mrs. Penney said with a teasing giggle. "I don't mind a man's hands on me."

"Oh mom," Maureen said, clearly exasperated with her mother's flirting nature.

Corey blushed, but Emily Penney ordered her daughter out of the room, “No need for you to stick around, dear. I’m sure Corey can do the job of measuring me.”

“That’s OK, I have time to help out, mom,” Maureen balked.

“That’s fine, dear, you go now and I’ll call you when it’s time for you to take Corey home,” Emily said in a firmer tone.

Corey was embarrassed to be in the middle of this battle of wills between mother and daughter; it appeared to him that Maureen was fearful of leaving him alone with her mother. He had noticed the mother had displayed a flirtatious manner, but Corey didn’t take it seriously since few women ever seemed to look at him with any kind of sexual interest. He was well-aware of his own effeminate movements that he figured could hardly ever attract a woman; that is, until Amy seemed drawn to him, probably more due to her own loneliness than to any sense of sexual interest.

As instructed, Maureen left the room in a noticeably disgruntled mood.

“Now we can do our business, Corey. I was afraid Maureen would get too involved in choosing the gown, and then we’d fight even more. She always seems to want me to wear clothes suited for a grandma, claims I dress showing too much skin,” Emily said.

Corey smiled, though he was becoming a bit worried that Emily Penney’s flirting might be more than just a middle-aged woman being a bit of a tease with a younger man. He was not sure how he’d handle any direct sexual offer, even a minor one.

“Let’s do your measurements first, Mrs. Penney,” he suggested.

“Emily, please call me Emily, and you may feel free to touch me wherever you need to, dear,” she said smiling.

“I like to measure the total woman but I’ll be very discreet, ma’am,” Corey said, opening up the tape measure.

“Ooooohhh, all of me, how exciting,” she exclaimed.

Corey started at the top, beginning with Emily’s neck and then ran the tape across her chest, making certain the tape hit the tip of her smallish breasts; as he adjusted the tape, his fingers lightly touched one of her nipples and Corey heard a sigh coming from the woman.

“Mrs. Penney, would you hold the tape right here on your chest,” he said taking the woman’s hand and placing it.

“Thirty-five and a half,” Corey said, after reading the tape.

From there, he moved to measure Emily’s torso, legs, hips, thighs and calves. He made certain his touches were gentle and light.

“That was nice, Corey. Your hands are lovely, dear, so soft and slender. I wished my Maureen had hands like yours; she’s got the short and stubby hands of my husband,” Emily said.

Corey wasn’t sure how to respond, and Emily continued. “You’re a very pretty boy, darling, although I shouldn’t tell a boy that he’s pretty. Perhaps I should have said ‘handsome.’ You’re that, too, but really you’re pretty, even more than our Maureen. She’s got all my hubby’s heavy features.”

“Mrs. Penney . . . I mean, Emily … Maureen’s a very cute and lovely girl,” he said.

“Oh, but you could be such a stunningly lovely girl, dear.”

“I could?” he asked, suddenly ashamed of his answer that would seem to appear that he’d already wondered about it.

“I’ll bet you’ve put on dresses already,” Emily pressed. “On, darling, that’s OK. You must look absolutely adorable in a dress.”

Corey was as astonished by the woman’s acute observation as he was of her lacking any inhibition in talking about it. He was certain many others had wondered about his appearance and mannerisms, but no one had ever said anything so quickly and directly.

“I guess I do . . . ah . . . look nice in a dress, Mrs. Penney,” he said, for some reason feeling he should be honest with the woman.

Emily smiled at the boy, and put a hand on his arm as if to reassure him that whatever he would tell her would be kept in confidence, and that she would not make fun of him and criticize him.

“I like to dress up sometimes as a girl. I suppose you think I’m a freak.”

“No, honey, it just makes you a bit different. That’s all. We’re all a bit different, aren’t we?”

Corey felt comforted by the woman; he also suspected that Emily Penney, too, might have her own secrets. He wondered what they might be, but decided it would be wrong to probe into the woman’s actions and behaviors; perhaps, she was not what she appeared on the outside, a wealthy suburban matron; perhaps she had a boyfriend on the side, or practiced as a high class prostitute, or might even have a girlfriend.

“Do you still want me to design your gown now that you know about me, Mrs. Penney?” he asked.

“Now, more than ever. I think you know instinctively what a woman wants,” she smiled. “And rest assured your dressing-up is strictly between you and me.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Emily Penney stood up and motioned to Corey to do the same. She looked him over carefully and then asked him to turn around and walk across the room and back. He did so.

“Yes, just as I thought,” she said when he completed the task.

“Oh?”

“I think we wear the same size dress, dear. Are you a six?”

Corey looked at her, surprised at her question. Yes, indeed, he did wear size six dresses.

“And we’re the same height, too, and beside you and I are both flat-chested,” she said, giggling.

The boy was curious as to where this was all going.

“After you’ve got my gown put together, I’ll want you to model it for me, just to see how it hangs.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I’ll be able to see how adorable the dress will be. You know you could be a model, dear?”

Just then, Maureen entered the room. “How are you doing, mom? I’d like to know when you’ll be done. You know I’ll have to drive Corey home.”

“Maybe another half hour dear,” she said.

“What’s taking so long?”

“We’re just talking. I’m getting to know Corey better. He’s a nice young man,” Emily said.

Corey felt badly that Maureen had to drive him home; it’d be about a 45-minute drive, since it would be during the rush hour. “She can just drop me off at the Bayshore Center, Mrs. Penney. I can take the Green Line bus all the way to my street.”

“No need for that Corey,” Emily said. “I’m sure Maureen won’t mind.”

Corey didn’t feel like arguing; he knew he could talk Maureen into leaving him at the bus stop. There was no need to drive him all the way home.

Maureen left the room and Corey suggested they spend time picking out the gown pattern. Emily Penney was impressed with the two gowns he had chosen, even after she looked through dozens of pages.

"You have a great sense of fashion, Corey," Emily said finally.

"Thanks," he said, blushing again. "Mom has always tried to be fashionable, even if we never had much money. That's why she started making her own dresses, and I guess that's how I got interested."

"Well, you seem to have somehow discovered what might look good on me. You seem to have a better fashion sense than some of the women designers I've used in the past."

Emily Penney finally settled on a classic style gown, a gauzy, halter style dress that offered a plunging vee to her chest that gave a hint of flesh leading to her modest but firm breasts. For material, she chose a satiny light purple color.

"Can you alter this a bit, Corey?" she asked.

"Yes, I can do whatever you'd like," he said.

"You’re a dear," she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

Corey got up from the sofa, ready to gather up his books and summon Maureen to leave, but Emily Penney grabbed his arm and told him to sit back down.

“What have you told that lovely girlfriend of yours about your dressing?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he admitted.

“It’s none of my business, you know, but I suggest you tell her about it soon,” she said.

“I’d be too embarrassed and she’d leave me right off.”

“Maybe not, but if you’re serious about your friendship with her, it’s best she knows. My instincts tell me that she’ll understand.”

Corey shook his head. “I couldn’t tell her; she comes from a small town up North and she’s used to big strong men.”

“Don’t judge her too quickly, dear. Who knows? You have no way of predicting the future? Maybe you two may never be lovers but you could be friends for a lifetime. She’s too sweet a girl so don’t hide your real self from her.”

Corey nodded his head and got to go.

“Thank you, Mrs. Penney. I should have something for you to look at in a month. Is that OK?”

“Yes, dear. That should be plenty of time for the Valentine’s Dance. I’ll call Maureen now.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“And please think over what I said about telling your friend Amy.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, just as Maureen entered the room, putting an end to the discussion.
*****
At Corey’s urging, Maureen agreed to drop him off at the Green Line bus stop, rather than battle rush hour traffic to take him all the way to his South Side home. Yet, the 15-minute trip to the stop gave the two young people time to talk.

“Mom can be pretty outspoken, Corey, and I wouldn’t take anything she said too seriously,” the girl said, obviously apologizing for her mother. She liked Corey and hoped he’d be a friend; she was worried he might be scared away due to her mother’s sometimes outlandish behavior.

“No, she was fine, Maureen. I really like her,” he said.

“Really? She can say some pretty rude stuff to people. My dad and I get embarrassed when she speaks out like that.”

Corey smiled. Yes, in fact, Emily probably did speak out more frankly about her opinions than most people would. And, he was shocked – and maybe a bit offended – when she told him he was pretty as a girl and that she suspected he wore dresses sometimes. It also showed that Mrs. Penney was a most observant and honest woman.

“She keeps telling me I’m too fat, like I’m ugly or something,” Maureen said.

“She’s wrong about that, Maureen. You’re pretty and I think darn cute and your new boyfriend clearly adores you,” Corey said.

Maureen shook her head. “Maybe I am a bit chunky, but I can’t help. I guess I inherited my dad’s genes.”

“Don’t listen to that talk, Maureen,” Corey said. “You’re a bright girl and one who is fun to be around.”

“But not pretty, like you,” she said, pulling the car to a stop in the Bayshore Mall, near the bus stop.

“Like me?”

“Well, mom even said she wondered why her daughter couldn’t be as pretty as that boy Corey,” she added, nodding in his direction.

“Oh, she shouldn’t have said that, Maureen. You’re a pretty girl and a great person.”

“Not as pretty as you, apparently,” she said as Corey stepped out of the car.

He leaned into the car and said, “She’s just being a mother, Maureen, and maybe I should be less pretty and more of a man.”

“Oh Corey, I didn’t mean that. I just get so mad at my mom’s nagging. You’re a great guy!”

“Thanks for the ride, Maureen. I see the bus is here. See ya’ tomorrow at the Union,” he said, closing the door and running to the bus.

Maureen watched him as he trotted to the bus; he even ran like a girl, she thought.

*****
Corey wondered about what to get Amy for Christmas; he thought maybe he’d design a dress for her for the holidays, but decided against it. She knew her parents and brothers would be quizzing her about her “boyfriend,” and felt that if he gave her a dress that he created it might be greeted with skepticism as to his manliness, even though he realized such speculations were pretty much correct. He sought out Maureen for advice, since the two girls had become close friends. At first, he feared Maureen might resurrect their conversation about his “prettiness” but was pleased to see that she never brought it up.

“Jewelry is always good for a girl,” Maureen suggested.

“But she doesn’t seem to wear any and I don’t think she’s had her ears pierced either,” he said.

“I think that’s changing, Corey,” the girl smiled. “I think you’ve had a lot to do with it; she really wants to be more girly now.”

Maureen who usually drove her Mustang to the campus agreed to take Corey to Bayshore to do some Christmas shopping; it was during a time when Amy was busy with both her lunchtime job and classes. In the end, Corey settled on getting a dainty gold-plated watch and a necklace with a delicate chain and a birdlike pendant.

“Oh Corey, those are exquisite,” Amy gushed when she opened the gifts. He had taken her to a restaurant that stood on the shore of Lake Michigan, almost in the shadow of the Calatrava-designed Milwaukee Art Museum.

They were seated at a table along the windows where they could view the famed winged architecture of the Museum as well as the rough waves of the cold water that had already caused the shoreline rocks to be coated with glistening ice. Looking toward the shoreline, they could see the sparkling of a bustling city’s lights blinking in the clear cool wintry night.

“Corey, this place must be so expensive,” she had protested when they had entered.

“This is a special occasion, and we’ll be separated for nearly three weeks now, and you’re so special to me,” he said. “And don’t worry about the expense. I have made lots of money in the last few months with my hairdressing and the tips.”

Later as they sipped non-alcoholic champagne – the City strictly enforced underage drinking laws – she opened the gifts.

“I hate to open these up. The wrappings are so lovely,” she said.

“Thank you, but you must open them anyway,” Corey smiled.

“But such pretty wrapping. Did you do that, Corey?”

He nodded in the affirmative. “Now open them, Amy.”

Amy squealed with excitement when she pulled out the necklace and then the watch, and held them up. She reached over and kissed him passionately.

Her excitement drew the attention of nearby diners who burst into cheers.

“Aren’t they a lovely couple!” Corey overhead from an older woman in a nearby table.

The following day was Saturday, and Corey used his mother’s car to take Amy to the Multi-Transit station for the Greyhound bus to Spooner. The two hugged as she was about to enter, finally breaking up when the bus driver yelled, “You two better break that up now or I’m leaving without you.”

*****
Corey’s friend from high school, Helen Comstock was home from a college in the East for the holidays. During that first semester of college, the two kept in touch mainly with emails, and had agreed to meet for coffee, choosing the Colectivo Shop in their Bay View neighborhood.

“You seem happy, Corey,” Helen said, as the two joined in the shop that had become a gathering spot for people of all ages.

“I guess I am,” he smiled.

“Must be that girlfriend of yours,” she said.

“Yes, I’m sure that’s most of it. Amy’s really special,” he agreed. “But you seem quite happy, too?”

Helen nodded. “At first I was lonely, but once I met Lionel, I began to feel at home.”

“Lionel? You met a boy out there?”

“I guess you’d say that,” she said. “We’ve just started getting together. No formal dates, yet, but that’ll come, I hope.”

“Hope it does,” Corey said.

“I like him a lot. He’s like you in a way, since we can talk about anything and he’s so caring and sweet, too. The only thing is, he’s black.”

“Oh, I didn’t think that’d bother you.”

“It doesn’t, but if my mom and dad found out, they’d probably yank me out of that school and bring me home,” she said.

“Give it a bit more time and if you and Lionel hit it off, then you can talk to your mom and dad,” Corey advised. “Besides, if you really like him, I think your parents might be OK with it. They want you to be happy.”

“Hope you’re right, Corey.”

Their conversation was interrupted by two boys who stopped by their table; they were in their graduating class in high school, and both seemed surprised by seeing Corey (whom they had characterized as a “sissy”) in close conversation with one of the school’s acknowledged beauties.

After dispensing with their curiosity, Helen asked: “You got time to do my hair? I hear you’re quite good.”

“If you’d trust me not to ruin it, I’ll be happy to,” he said smiling.

“That’s awesome,” Helen said, leaning in to give him a quick, even affectionate kiss on the cheek.

*****
For many college students, the holiday season opens up several weeks of freedom – freedom from studies, freedom from early rising to get to an early class and a time to just plain do whatever you’d like. It wasn’t that for Corey; he had learned that for hair salon operators, like his mother, it was the busiest time of the season as women seek to pretty themselves for holiday parties, for family get-togethers and for other outings.

Corey’s skill as a hairdresser had become known among his mother’s customers, especially his ability to find the best hairdo for teen girls and those in their twenties and thirties.

“Corey, I admire you for how you seem to know just what us girls want,” said Helen Comstock, as he finished up fixing her hair a couple of days before Christmas.

“He’s got the touch. He seems to know us pretty well,” teased Tanya Winters, a middle-aged hairdresser who worked the chair next to his.

“How could I not know women and girls? I’ve been brought up in this place,” he said.

“You know I’ll be recommending you to lots of my friends, Corey,” Helen said.

“Thanks, Helen. And I wish you lots of luck with Lionel. He sounds like a keeper.”

“Maybe, Corey. Maybe. It’ll be difficult,” Helen said, giving Corey a light, friendly kiss before leaving the salon.

*****
Even though Corey had just begun taking classes in hairdressing, his informal apprenticeship in helping his mother out, accompanied by his own powers of observation, had made him a top hairdresser. He needed a few more hours of training to get his state’s cosmetology license, but was free to work on customers as long as a licensed practitioner was around in a supervisory capacity.

While Corey liked hairdressing, particularly because of its interaction with his customers, he was not planning on doing it for his life’s work; he was intrigued by fashion design, but was worried that it was a most chancy way to make a living. He also had an interest in social justice issues, and was considering a future in politics or social work. He long felt he’d like to make a positive difference in the world.

When he was not scheduled to work in the salon, he worked on Mrs. Penney’s dress. He hoped to finish it by the beginning of the second semester at school. Corey wanted to do an especially good job on the outfit, since Mrs. Penney had already given him an advance of several hundred dollars so that he could purchase the special material he planned to use. And, she promised to pay a hefty price for the finished product. “I’m convinced you can come up with something that a designer like Donna Karan or Coco Chanel could produce and if you do, I’ll pay you what I’d pay them,” she promised.

“I doubt if I’ll equal their designs, Emily,” he had said.

“Don’t underestimate yourself, darling,” she had said encouragingly.

While Emily had picked out a basic design from the book, she had encouraged him to consider modifications that might make it an even more exciting dress. She cautioned him, however: “Don’t over-design it, darling. After all, this is Milwaukee, not Park Avenue.”

His nights and Sundays were occupied with working on the dress; it required much fussy work, including hand-stitching. After a day on his feet in the salon, he dove into the dress, taking time only to text Amy later at night. They also talked on the phone nearly every day.

“I’m having fun; my brother’s got me into cross-country skiing, and there’s a group of about us who get out quite often,” she told him.

“That’s hard work, isn’t it?” he asked, having heard that type of skiing can be exhausting.

“It is and I wish you could be here to join us,” she said.

“Gosh, Amy, I’m not sure I’m up to that,” Corey said, recognizing his own physical limitations.

“Don’t be silly, if we girls can do it, you can.”

“I suppose. Is it just girls in your group?”

“No, there’s a couple of guys I knew in school and a few girls.”

“Oh,” he said, his voice exhibiting some suspicion.

Amy picked up on it. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” he said.

She giggled. “You don’t need to be; the guys are along just because their girlfriends are with us. I’m the wallflower of the group, unwanted and unescorted.”

“You’re no wallflower, Amy, so don’t put yourself down.”

“You’re a sweetie, but I think you’re biased and that’s so nice. I love you.”

After they finished the call, Corey found himself totally in a muddle: part of the time, he lived in a world of woman and girls, desiring to be one of them, and now a marvelous girl by the name of Amy Hartmann had stirred in him desires that he never knew he had. He had never considered himself a boy who could become a man with a wife and children. He was frightened of trying to ever be with a girl to make love to, worried that his sorry penis would not be up to the task it was supposed to perform. As he dreamed of his hugs and kisses with Amy, his penis hardened and grew into a vigorous masturbation, his desire for bodily contact with her growing in intensity.

And yet, he wanted to be “one of the girls.”

*****
Amy returned several days before the second semester, claiming to her family that she had to leave for school early in order to catch up on her year-long science paper. It was only partly true; the real reason was that she wanted to get back to spend some time with Corey before her job and schoolwork would intrude on their time together.

There was a second reason, as well, as her brother understood as he drove her to Spooner to catch the bus for the 330-mile trip to Milwaukee. The reason was Lance Redig, an ugly brute of a man who had fled town three years before and now had returned and hung ominously around the Hartmann household, bugging Adam for a job and scaring Amy.

“I’m sorry about Lance showing up again,” he said. “He claimed he was reformed and wanted to get back into logging work. I told him to get lost after what he did to you and thought he’d never come back. He’s only got a few cousins here after his mother died and I don’t know why he’s back.”

“After that night, I’m scared just thinking of him,” Amy said, recalling an earlier and terrifying experience she had when she was fifteen. Lance had offered her a ride home one dark, blustery night while she was returning from basketball practice; knowing him as a friend of her brother’s she accepted, only to face a frenzied sexual assault as he pulled into a dark forest road. She escaped the worst of the attack by screaming and punching him so hard that she bloodied his nose; after what seemed an eternity, he finally backed off, perhaps due to his beer-induced intoxication.

Lance, perhaps realizing that he might have faced a beating by Amy’s brothers, said he was “sorry.” He began to cry and pleaded for her not to tell anyone, that his actions had only been taken because he liked her and that he may have had a bit too much to drink.

She returned home, terribly shaken and swore to herself that she hated men. She never told anyone of the attack.

During her return to home for Christmas vacation, Lance appeared on the scene again. The incident – two days after Christmas – still was etched into her mind. Amy was home alone about eight o’clock that night, taking advantage of quiet time to read a novel, perhaps watch a little television and enjoy a late evening phone call with Corey. Her parents were in the Twin Cities for a holiday visit to one of her aunts and Adam (the only brother who still lived at home) was out with his girlfriend.

She heard a rapping on the door, followed by the door opening and a burst of cold wind gush into the room from the below-zero night. She wasn’t alarmed; it wasn’t unusual in the small logging community that folks left their doors unlocked and neighbors would stroll in unannounced for a visit. She thought it might be Tammy Lautenberger, a high school girl from two houses away who often visited with Amy while she was home from college.

Looking up from her book, she saw Lance. It still didn’t alarm her, since she figured Lance was likely looking for her brother.

“Oh hi, Lance, Adam’s out with Stephanie tonight,” she said.

He said nothing, but eying her intensely he took off his dirty outer work coat and dropped it on the floor.

Suddenly scared, Amy sought to get up from the couch, but Lance pounced upon her, pinning her back into a prone position and began to grope her, struggling to move his calloused hands under her sweatshirt in quest of her breasts. She was shocked and wanted to scream, but nothing came out from her mouth. She felt his unshaven, dirty face as he tried to kiss her, but she kept turning her head to avoid his mouth. His breath smelled nasty, a combination of beer and food particulars that must be lodged between his teeth that she suspected he rarely brushed.

“Settle down, Amy dear,” he commanded in an alcohol-induced voice.

“No, Lance, don’t . . .”

“Oh, you’ll like my great cock, dear,” he boasted.

“No,” she yelled, but doubted anyone would hear her.

“You know you want it.”

“No, no, don’t hurt me,” she pleaded.

He began to remove her sweatpants, when she heard the back kitchen door open and her brother Adam yell, “Lance, get off of her, or so help me I’ll beat you to a pulp.”

In an instant, she felt Lance release her and she saw Adam pull him up; while Lance was a husky man, Adam was lean and tall and strong and he easily yanked the large man who was crazed with sexual desire off of his sister.

“Adam, I know she just needs loving. I wasn’t going to hurt her,” he pleaded.

“Shut up, and get the hell out of here and I don’t ever want to see you near this house again,” Adam said, pushing the young man out of the house and throwing him into a snowbank. He went back into the house, grabbed Lance’s coat and threw it out into the snow.

“Now get out of here. I should have left you out there to freeze to death,” Adam yelled, walking back into the house and slamming the door.

*****
The sun was just beginning to rise as Adam continued down Highway 53 toward Spooner. Already the glare from the reflections off the blankets of sparkling snow that covered the open fields that spread out beyond the snow piles lining the highway was beginning to be nearly blinding, forcing both Adam and Amy to put on sun glasses.
As they continued on the drive, Amy again thanked her brother for pulling Lance off of her that night nearlh two weeks earlier. “You’re a good brother and you saved me that night. I was happy you got home when you did.”

“I’m glad I did, too. He’s such a pig,” he said. “I hope that incident won’t make you afraid to come back home soon again, Amy.”

“I love you and mom and dad and the others, so I’ll be back, but I hardly look upon this area as being friendly territory,” she said.

“I understand, but don’t judge the rest of us from that incident, Amy.”

She nodded. Her school years had hardly been pleasant; she knew she was considered the ugly duckling among her high school mates. She had even heard a story that when one of the guys had considered dating her (she suspected it was Larry Jensen with whom she had spent some time in youthful, no-romantic pursuits) he was told he’d be ridiculed for dating “such a fat pig.”

Amy also knew that during the Thanksgiving and Christmas holiday trips back home she had astounded the local community with her thinner, more attractive image. All of a sudden she was “desirable” in eyes of her former classmates and others. It was all due to the makeover performed on her by Corey. She smiled then, realizing that she’d be seeing her lovely Corey in about eight hours.

“Maybe I won’t give up on men, after all,” she thought to herself.