Page 50 of A Simple Life

Bob caught my eye and lifted one shoulder as if to say, “Give it up, man. No point fighting it.”

He was right, so I sat back and took another sip of my beer.

“Have you been to the cliff in the park?” Laura asked, her eyes dancing.

“No,” Quinn replied. “I haven’t.”

“Cliff is a suggestive word,” I muttered. “More like a bluff.”

Laura and Bob laughed. “Now. Back then, it seemed huge.” Laura turned to Quinn. “The water is fairly shallow along the beach. By the cliff, there’s a drop off into the water, and at that point, it’s much deeper. When we were kids, you’d dare someone to jump—it was a big thing.”

“I see.”

“Anyway, another big thing was to pedal your bike really fast toward the cliff, then turn before you got there, hitting your brakes hard. The one closest to the edge of the cliff won.”

“What was the prize?” Quinn asked.

“Bragging rights,” I interjected. “When I was a kid, that was the biggest deal.”

“Shut up, John. I’m telling the story,” Laura demanded.

I held up my hands in supplication.

“Anyway, John had taken the bike apart and put it back together, making some adjustments. He was sure he’d win. He rode it to the cliff and challenged Craig, who was the current ‘reigning champ.’ But John hadn’t quite tightened everything as well as he should…” She paused dramatically. “As he barreled toward the cliff, the handlebars came off. He went one way, and the bike took off, sailing through the air like a glider. Over the cliff and through the air a long way before sinking into the lake.” She smirked. “Even John stood and watched it.”

“It was impressive,” I admitted with a sheepish shrug. “I had no idea it could fly like that.”

“Oh my,” Quinn said, trying to hold in a laugh.

“I remember wondering if I was bleeding enough that my dad would sympathize, or if he’d whoop my butt for being so stupid.”

Abby’s eyes went wide. “Oh no! You were bleeding? Farmer John, were you killed?”

Laughing, I swung her up on my knee. “Nope.” I pulled up my shirt sleeve. “But I got this scar.” Then I touched my eyebrow. “And this one, plus a big one on my knee. The bike sank, and we never recovered it.”

“Oh no,” Quinn murmured.

“My dad decided that, plus more chores, would be my punishment. And I had to go back to my old bike. I didn’t get a new one for a year.” I laughed. “I think Dad only relented ’cause I had a growth spurt and I kept hitting my knees on the handlebars, and Mom nagged him all the time.”

“Any more cliff races?” Quinn asked.

“Nope. I learned my lesson. Next time I went to the cliff was to make out with Jenny Stait.”

“What’s make out?” Abby asked.

“Oh, um, we snuggled.”

“Oh, like you did with Momma last night in her bed?”

The entire room became silent.

“What?” Quinn asked, her voice an octave higher. “You mean when we were sitting together during the storm, right?”

“No, Momma.” Abby shook her head, impatient. “Later. I woke up in my bed and I came to see you, but you and Farmer John were snuggling in your bed. I knew you were okay, so I went back to my bed.” She smiled. “You were having a sleepover!”

For a moment, I couldn’t find my voice. We thought we’d been so careful. I hadn’t heard Abby get up. Or the bedroom door open. I had been too exhausted from fucking her mother for hours.

What if she’d gotten up while⁠—