Eventually, the two teens used up all the nervous energy the things they'd seen had fired in them. They got up, cleaned up again, and again got something to eat. As they sat at the table, munching on grilled cheese sandwiches, the subject that was on both of their minds finally found words.
"So what are we going to do?" asked Debbie.
"I don't know. It's all so strange and weird," commented Robby.
"I want to yell at her ... scream at her," said Debbie, but without the anger that would have made it sound like such actions were imminent.
"We can't do that," said Robby, pragmatically.
"She's hiding something," said Debbie.
"Well gee," chuckled her brother. "When did you figure that out?"
She shot him a dark look.
"Why would she do that with a complete stranger?" wondered the girl.
"Come on Deb," said Robby. "Obviously she knows him from somewhere. He's not a stranger."
"But why would she hide it? And why would she let him do that to our place?" complained Debbie.
"Deb, she doesn't know it's our place," said Robby with infuriating sense.
"Okay, then, we'll tell her it's our place!" said Debbie, getting mad again.
"And she's just going to say '"Gee, kids, I didn't know that. I'll get right over there and tell the bad man to get out.' You really think she'll just say that keeping that little secret from her for years and years is just fine?" Robby sometimes had a way of making Debbie feel stupid, even though she was quite sure she was the smarter twin.
"But ..." Debbie started to yell.
"Look!" he yelled first. "She's never done anything that wasn't for our own good," he said insistently. "You know she loves us. There has to be some explanation for all this. We just have to figure out how to get her to tell us."
Debbie sulked. "I don't think I like you very much," she said sourly.
"I know," he said, making his voice sound obviously too sad for the situation. "I could tell a little while ago when you were letting me squirt all over your ... pussy."
His use of that word, a word that, if not taboo, was completely naughty, and not a word either of them felt comfortable using in normal conversation, was like a slap in the face to Debbie. Anger flared in her, but it was because he was poking holes in all her statements. She stood up.
"I'm going over to Angie's house. I'll be home for supper." She tried to frown, to let Robby know she was mad.
He just looked at her. He was afraid if he said anything else it would only drive her further away from him.
Both kids were home when Ramona walked in that night. She had a lot on her mind, which was probably why she didn't sense the slight air of tension in the house. When she had returned to work, and had sat down at her new desk, a perk of having been assigned to work with the representative of the eccentric and mysterious Naughty who owned the mansion, the first thing she had thought of was the heavy weight of her brother's sperm in her womb as she sat. Her feelings for her brother had been forced into a dark corner in her mind for a long time, but she wasn't surprised when they flooded out of that corner to drown her in their passion and intensity. She had always loved Robert in a special way that no other man could match.
She had known, when they were young, that what they did was not acceptable to normal people. She had known that there was significant danger if their love produced any attention ... especially if that attention came as the result of her belly swelling with his child.
After he had gone, though, she wished more than anything in the world that he had left her pregnant. She missed him so much that she had dreamed every night that his seed had taken hold in her, and that she would have something of him to hold and cherish and love. When her next period had come, announcing that her dream was not to come true, she had cried even more bitterly.
She had adjusted. Her desire to become a mother had transferred to Richard and she's finally been happy for more than a few days at a time. And when Richard had died it had been the memory of getting through the loss of her brother's presence and all that she missed so much, that had helped her decide to keep living then. That was when she had been able to finally put her brother's memories to rest, hidden in that corner of her mind. She had centered on her children, and had used their raising as a crutch to help her walk through life until she had healed enough to stand on her own again.
Now, suddenly, Robert was back. The affect on her was almost as traumatic as his leave-taking had been. As she sat, feeling his essence lying in her womb, shivers of ecstasy flowed through her veins. She was so happy she felt brittle, as if she could break into a thousand pieces if she weren't careful.
There were too many things to think about, and her mind flitted from one to the other too quickly to stop and actually think about each one. That he still loved her was obvious, but what did that love mean? How would it affect her life? What would he expect from her? How would she tell her children about him? What did the renovation of her family home mean in her life? She realized with true irony that she could almost feel the ghosts of her parents hovering over her, whispering to her, but she couldn't tell what they were saying. Did they approve? Were their spirits enraged that she would lie with her own brother. What if she got pregnant now? Did she want to prevent such a pregnancy? She knew she would go to Robert again ... and again ... for as long as he would take her naked body into his arms. She knew in the center of her being that she could never deny him. What did that mean to her life?
She did her work mechanically, her practiced financial eye reviewing documents, flagging ones that looked questionable for reasons she couldn't identify at that moment, but which she knew would yield their secrets later, when she was more settled. Her competence was automatic, unthinking, as she shuffled papers, her mind a whirl of unresolved issues.
It had taken a co-worker touching her shoulder, nodding at the lights going out all over the bank, to bring her back to the real world completely. She blushed at the woman's questioning look.
"I guess I was preoccupied with all this," she said, indicating the pile of invoices and bills on her desk.
"You'll get used to it," said the woman.
That social contact had let Ramona think of things other than the rambling questions in her head, and she had determined to concentrate on traffic to keep her mind off of things until she had passed the now open iron gates of her ancestral home. When she parked and went into the house, the uppermost thing in her mind was what, if anything, to tell her children. She had to begin, somehow, to prepare them for learning that they had an uncle they knew nothing about.
Ramona turned off the engine and blinked. As if some demented magic had swooped in to take charge of her life, she was in her driveway.
She didn't remember a single thing about the drive home.