Dinner conversation was stilted. Mom was wrestling with guilt, her generations curse. Guilt for cheating on her husband... guilt for incestuous relations with her

son... guilt for enjoying incestuous relations with her son... guilt for wanting more...

She determined to make it up to him.. She would try to be the lady in the parlor, the cook in the kitchen and the whore in the bedroom, that her generation was taught that men wanted.

Dad, for his part, was blissfully ignorant as to the cause of mom's sudden attentiveness. Rather than communicating and finding out what was really going on, he was more than content to just convince himself that...