Denny leaned over and tongued her ear. "Wanna bet?"
His sister scowled harshly, looking away, whipping her long straight strands of coal-black hair and staring out the window. Denny followed her gaze, thinking about fucking her until they had to fasten their seat belts and began descending to land at Portland International Airport.
CHAPTER 2
Denny and Joyce entered the waiting area, moving slowly among the herd of passengers. Denny sighted his father and Norma standing some fifteen yards to their right. At the same instant, Martin Reardon spotted his children. "Denny… Joyce!" his booming baritone voice called. Denny nudged Joyce, and then they broke into a full run and hurled themselves into their fathers waiting arms.
"Daddy, Dadeee!" Joyce cried, burying her face in their father's chest. For the moment, Martin Reardon ignored his son and held his daughter close and kept calling her, "my little precious." Then, holding her at arm's length, he corrected himself. "No, you're not little anymore. You're all grown up. A full-blown woman!"
Then he introduced his daughter to his wife. "Joyce, this is Norma," he said, beaming proudly.
Norma hugged Joyce dutifully. "Dear, I've heard so much about you from your father and Denny," she said. "We meet at last!"
Martin Reardon shook hands with his son, then released Denny so Norma could hug him. Norma seemed surprisingly cool and Denny felt a surge of disappointment as his chest pressed firmly against the large succulent breasts he had fondled and sucked just last summer. But he remembered that Norma rarely displayed much affection while in the presence of her husband. God, she's gorgeous, he thought, ad-miring her firm, ripe body that curved in all the right places, the soft ash-blond hair fragrant with a hint of perfume, the trace of lust and mischief in her deep brown eyes. He admired her full lips, too. Yes, he certainly had pleasant memories in connection with those lips all right!
Martin Reardon was glancing back and forth between his son and daughter. "Denny, you look a bit pale," he said. "You need some of our Oregon summer sun. As for you, Joyce, I don't think I could suggest any improvement at all! You-you're simply ravishing!"
Denny didn't like the way his father was drinking in his sister's lush, ripe body. He helped his father with the luggage, and then the four of them walked chatting excitedly to the parking lot and got into Martin Reardon's new Volkswagen van. Five minutes later, they were driving the freeway toward Walden Flats. Martin Reardon spoke of the changes that had taken place since Denny's visit last year. The freeway system had been extended, he said, and there was a new shopping center on the edge of town. Denny felt disappointed at the changes. He had looked forward to driving the rural, winding roads he remembered to Walden Flats. He asked his father to take a cut-off which would take them through the center of the small town. His father agreed.
As they drove, Denny was glad his father had changed so little. His father looked a trifle dissipated, true, but Denny was proud of his father-his popularity in the town, his bearing, his carriage. Everyone in Walden Flats seemed to know and respect him. He still possessed a great sense of humor and he stood tail and straight, the way a chiropractor should, Denny thought.
Very possibly, the people whose necks he cracked and whose pulled muscles he treated, laughed as they exited his office. Even now, confident and erect behind the wheel, he kept them all laughing as he related stories about patients he had treated. Dr. Martin Reardon, Denny thought. He liked the sound of the title, even if chiropractors were thought by many to be quacks.
Really, Dr. Martin Reardon was in semi-retirement and, at forty-three, enjoying life to the hilt and pleased that Walden Flats had remained small and provincial. He didn't care about making a lot of money; he just loved the Oregon weather, the land, the people, everything. Joyce kept leaning over the seat and planting big kisses on her father's ruddy cheek as he drove. As they cruised through the main street of Walden Flats, Martin Reardon pointed out his office to Joyce and told her she could drop in anytime for an "adjustment." Glancing over his shoulder, he said, "You don't even have to make an appointment, hon."
They all laughed, and when they had sputtered and spasmed to silence again, Denny nudged his sister and pointed at the town square, an old-fashioned building atop a grassy knoll that had been converted into a movie theater. "The road to Landon Pond is just behind it," he told Joyce, and he shivered with excitement, remembering the good times there. He asked his father if the pond was still the same.
"Pretty much," Martin said. "The fishing's been good, they say, and it's supposed to be a little deeper. Oh, Denny, I saw Rex and Ray in town the other day. Told them you and Joyce were arriving soon. Fine boys-both of them. They're eager to see you and Joyce. You'll have to take Joyce and introduce her to everybody tomorrow. I imagine Rex's sister, Sue, and Joyce will have a lot in common." Martin Reardon winked at his wife. "Incidentally, Norma bought another bicycle, so you'll both have wheels this summer."
Joyce squealed and leaned over and kissed her father again appreciatively.
Soon they passed tall redwoods and old-style houses, proceeding down the winding rural road Denny remembered so well. Finally, they swung into an even more secluded area and then pulled into a steep gravel driveway. The Reardon residence.
Joyce jumped out. "Oh, it's beautiful!" she gasped. "Just the way I visualized it. It's just the way you described it, Denny!" She drank in the multicolored flowers, the huge hedge surrounding the enormous green front lawn. Then, as Norma and their father took them on a tour of the house, Joyce seemed in a near state of hysterical rapture. The house was rustic looking from the outside, but the interior was elegantly furnished and modern. Denny thought his sister would have an orgasm when she saw the room where she and her brother would sleep. It had wall-to-wall carpeting, twin beds, with spreads that matched padded headboards. There was huge mirror and dressers against the opposite wall near their private bathroom. Joyce made appropriate, loud squeals and bounced up and down on the beds, which were spaced just four feet apart
Joyce pulled the cord, opening the drapes and stared through the big window enraptured at the verdant countryside: trees, patches of green surrounded by redwood fences, horses and cattle grazing in distant neighbors' yards.
"It's so wonderful I wish we could stay here for a year!" she cried, hugging her father.
"Well, maybe we can arrange for you to attend school here next year," Martin Reardon said, patting his daughter's buttocks. Denny watched, wishing his father would keep his hands to himself!
Later that evening, Norma prepared dinner in the kitchen and Denny and Joyce sat in the living room with their father. Martin Reardon sipped his martini from the long-stemmed glass and questioned Denny and Joyce about their hobbies, school, every facet of their lives. His eyes were bright and his manner jovial as he listened to their answers. But he began making more and more trips to the kitchen to fix more martinis, and gradually his speech became slurred, his behavior silly.
In his conversations with Joyce, Denny had carefully omitted, at least minimized, their father's excessive drinking. But now he remembered what he had conveniently managed to forget. Watching his father, it seemed unbelievable that this could be the same self-assured man who had met them at the airport. His jaw was slack, his eyes dull, his manner sullen. He even spilled a drink all over himself, then picked up the lint-covered olive and ate it anyway.
Denny could see the terrible disappointment all over his sister's face. "Are you all right, daddy?" she asked. "You must be tired, daddy?"
"Yeah, your old man's just a little tired, sugar," he muttered. That's right. Pretty goddam sick and tired of lots of things." He stood up, cupping his hands at his mouth. "Goddam it, Norma! You get a rag in here and clean this mess up, hear? Now!"