‘Oh, my!’ my mother said again. ‘A Thomas Kinkade…’ my father said, adjusting his glasses to look at it more closely. ‘Oh, my…’ my m...ther repeated again. ‘And actually,’ Miranda added, pointing to something in the corner of the painting, ‘this isn’t a print. It’s a signed original. We have a friend who has a connection.’ ‘Oh my!’ seemed to be the limit of my mother’s vocabulary at that point. After holding up the work and viewing it from multiple angles, my mother finally set it down and. " After we got to the bar, we talked for at least two hours, it was so nice. But the longer we talked, he more he touched me and caressed me and I, him. We left the bar, drove to his house, holding hands up the driveway and into the house where he took off my jacket and then excused himself to the restroom. I sat on his leather couch, in the corner. He came and practically sat on me, embracing me with his entire body and kissing me all over. Then he stood up in front of me and said, "I'm sorry. More

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