This is the fourth chapter of a multi-part story centred around Mike, Trish and their friends.
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Unfortunately, this is mostly a true story. I have only changed a few of the details and names for privacy.
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It was a busy morning. Trish had told me before she left for work that she had invited her supervisor, Professor Deneuve, over for a barbie dinner on Saturday.
I was just digesting that and trying to rework the logistics for the rest of the week, when the phone rang.
It was Mary. She and Joe were the parents of Kirra and Sharon. The girls were close friends with Trish; they'd all gone through school together. I'd recently helped them mend their relationship with Kirra, their youngest daughter.
"Hi Mike," Mary said, "I hope I am not disturbing anything."
"No, all good, Mary," I replied. "How are you?"
"I am well, Mike, thanks," Mary responded.
"And those daughters? Kirra and Sharon enjoying all the parental attention?"
"Yes, they are," Mary chuckled, "well Kirra is. I am sorry to bother you, but I am afraid we need your help."
"My help? Sure. Anything. What's the matter?"
"It's Sharon, I'm afraid," Mary said quietly. "You were right when you said she might feel left out, with Joe and I having incest with Kirra...."
"Hmm, I see," I said full of concern. "I thought this could happen."
"I know," Mary sighed. "You were right, Mike."
"How is she?"
"She's holed up in her room," Mary explained. "She won't come out. Joe and I thought, maybe, that you might be able to talk to her?"
I didn't tell Mary, but Sharon had texted me yesterday out of the blue asking me how I was doing. I'd replied innocently and thought nothing much of it.
"Well, OK, I guess," I replied, "though I am not sure what I can do."
"We think," Mary explained, "that since you broke Kirra in at Trish's party, maybe Sharon might be more responsive to you than she is to us at the moment."
"Well, I don't know," I said. "We'll see, I guess. I will be over in about an hour."
"That's great!" Mary enthused with relief. "Thank you for helping, regardless. We don't want to impose on your generosity, Mike, but this is an emergency."
"No problem, Mary. We've been friends for so long that we're like family."
"Just like always, Mike," Mary said. "You always put the needs of others ahead of your own."
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I knocked quietly on Sharon's bedroom door.
"Sharon," I said in a hushed voice, "it's me, Mike. May I come in?"
There was no immediate answer, so I turned the doorknob and went in.
After Mary's call I had texted Sharon and told her that I had missed seeing her lately and asked her would she mind if I came over to visit her. She had responded immediately with an "OK", which I took as a positive sign.
I entered her bedroom. It was a large room. Subdued light leached from the bedlamp on a bedside table. There were a few stuffed toys: teddys and dogs. I made out the soft pink walls, it was a very feminine space. The bed was in the centre of the opposite wall. Sharon sat on the bed, propped up by pillows against the bedhead. Her knees were raised and her hand was between them. When she noticed me entering, she quickly removed her hand, slipped her legs down and settled her skirt.
"Hi, Sharon," I said, "how are you?"
Now she was doing something on her phone.
"Hi Mike," she said looking up and smiling briefly. "I'm having a bit of trouble actually. This level is tricky."
I approached the bed to see what she meant. She was playing Irate Birds on her uPhone. I sat down on the bed beside to her.
"Oh," I said taking an immediate and active interest in what she was doing, "I remember this level. It is tricky! Let me think... oh, yeah, try aiming here with an irate red bird."
I swung my legs up on the bed and sat alongside her. Sharon fired the irate bird to where I'd indicated and soon a kooky chain reaction was set in motion and the difficult level had been achieved.
"Wow," Sharon said, "that was it, Mike! Hey, and I even found a gold key!"
"Congrats, Sharon!" I enthused. I put a hand on her thigh and kissed her forehead. "Great skill!"
Sharon had been friends with my daughter, Trish, for over a decade, so we knew each other well. Trish and Sharon were the same age, twenty-two.
Thrilled by her achievement, Sharon gave me a hug and innocently kissed my cheek. I noticed the skirt she was wearing was quite short; she also wore a white camisole top.
"I knew you'd help me, Mike," she said. "You've always been good to me."
"Well," I told her, "good friends of Trish are good friends of mine."
"Trish is so lucky to have you as her Dad," she said.
"You're pretty lucky, too, Sharon," I reminded her. "Mary and Joe both love you very much."
"Not like you love Trish," she added kind of sadly, before adding, "and not how they love Kirra."
"Sharon," I said sympathetically, "I think you'd be surprised about how they feel about you. You're their first daughter. The first child is always special."
She put down the uPhone and fell silent. I took her hand in mine. It felt soft, Sharon had long graceful fingers.
"Hey, Sharon," I said to her, "Look, let's talk this out man to man or at least man to girl. What happens in here stays in here, OK? You can trust me."
She nodded. My hand rubbed along her forearm, reassuring her.
"Spit it out. Tell me. What's going on?"