Filling In For Beth Part 2 free porn video

Filling in for Beth - Part 2 It had been a quiet, wonderful evening. Tom arrived home before dark and he and the girls played in the backyard for the first time in weeks. Dinner came out reasonably well for a beginning cook and his lovely, young assistant and we'd made it through a real sit-down dinner and part of a basketball game without a squeal or a shriek from anyone. A damn fine job if I do say so myself. Rachael and I even shaved our legs and wore pantyhose, brushed out our hair and tried a little makeup. Tom complimented us both. It's surprising how easily I'd slipped into this little family after 'the haircut.' Rachael had a thousand questions whenever we crossed paths, few of which I was prepared to answer right away so she went away dispirited too often for my taste. So I started reading. They needed a maid too, some of which I could do, and a nanny, but Tom seemed opposed to the idea of hiring a woman from the area. It was an awkward situation with Rachael, a grown man playing dress-up with a girl, so I had to work hard to keep things in the open where Tom could see what was going on. It wasn't easy. He came home late a lot, often with a fast food bag in his hand, and usually had his head buried in a computer when he was at home. Since none of us ever seemed to find a time to talk I decided to start cooking dinner when it looked like he might be home, a few days in a good week. When her homework was done Rachael helped out with the cooking, set the table and herded everyone into the kitchen. We used that time to discuss all the girly things she was curious about, out in the open. I could relay the latest 'research' and hand down important decisions about such things as hair gel, knee stockings and shoes (very important it turns out, shoes.) That way, Tom was in on all the conversations and had a chance to chime in if he wanted. Once the topic turned to 'girly stuff,' as Suzy scoffed, she and her dad tuned us out anyway, so who knows what he heard. He had a chance at least. We'd gotten her started on some skincare that had helped a lot. At home we both wore foundation/acne cream and one or two touches of makeup, for experimental purposes. I'll admit, I liked the color it gave me. A lot of men wear makeup these days. Suzy wrinkled her nose but Tom didn't notice until she pointed it out one morning. He gave a long, funny look but no comment. Tom managed to get the girl's hair trimmed finally and we experimented with some different braids. We still struggled with Susan's wild mane each morning and I had to maintain my 'style' as well. Bangs are irritating in some ways, easier in other ways, neither of which I'll go into. We all have our hair struggles. I'd finally gotten the kitchen and living room cleaned the way I like and had taken over the laundry room as well. The massive pile of clothes that first greeted me took days to whittle down. The whole time I questioned whether this wasn't being too forward. What would Tom think if he saw me sorting the tiny panties and socks into piles or, perhaps worse, if he found me with a hand in his nasty boxers, turning them right-side out? To be honest, I could barely touch them at first. The thought of wearing gloves did cross my mind. To avoid the folding issue I dumped the clean clothes on the sofa for them to sort. Rachael was glad to be rid of the chore and even Susan thanked me (twice!) for her clean soccer uniform but Tommy never said a word about the piles of clean clothes that appeared. We're not just talking about shirts or even boxers. Who did he think was sorting and washing his athletic cup or the bikini briefs he wears out on dates? His daughters? That night, Tom was relaxed in his easy chair with Suzy curled on his chest and Rachael was showing me pages from fashion magazines on the sofa. Everything seemed so new and exciting to her that I couldn't help joining in the girlish chatter. We were getting loud because of the TV, talking about dresses, which I obviously knew nothing about. She was attempting to describe one she'd seen somewhere in a magazine but at the time neither of us had the vocabulary. All I could understand was that it was blue and 'slinky.' "Mom has one just like it!" she shouted over the whistles and cheers of the game. "Maybe your dad might let you try it on," I suggested at the same volume, hoping Tom might join in the conversation with his daughter. He didn't look. "Oh. My. God! We should raid mom's closet!!" There was the shriek. She sprang off the sofa, sending magazines sliding into my lap, and she did a little hop, up and down, flapping her hands. She looked like a stork taking off. "Oh, oh, what's it called?" she mumbled. "Ummm, Umm. Let me think." The movement captured Tom's attention for a moment. He smiled and watched her hop and flick her fingers as if whatever she was looking for might fly out of their tips. Then she stopped and snapped her fingers. "I've got it. I remember now." She looked at me dead serious, glanced quickly at her dad who was watching the game again, then stepped one foot forward, clasped her hands in a theatrical begging motion and shouted over the game. "Can we go all the way this weekend? Please Morgan?" All the sound in the room disappeared except for the squeak of basketball shoes. "Wha - What? Where'd you hear that?" I asked. Tom's deep voice cut through the sound of a cheer from the TV. "What did you just say?" Rachael's face fell. "What did I say?" she asked, confused. "What did she mean by that Morgan?" Tom asked, a warning in his voice. "What did I say?" Rachael asked again, visibly shrinking into herself. "What's going on?" Suzy chimed in sleepily, raising her head and scratching at a loose tangle of hair. It had happened so fast. How had everything turned sour so quickly? What could Rachael be thinking of? And what must Tom be thinking? He lifted a finger and jabbed it at me. His other hand gripped Suzy's arm hard. "You better start talking, fast." "How about we give Rachael an opportunity to explain herself?" I asked him, attempting to appear calm while barely able to breath. "No, I think you need to explain," he said. "I swear to God Morgan." The last time his voice had that tone I was 17 and we were fighting, mainly because I was jealous of him to be honest. That was one of our last fights. It started with accusations and ended in blows. Of course Tom kicked my ass then and he could do it again, only it would be even easier for him now. But you know what? He was being a dick for no reason this time. I'd gone out of my way to keep my dealings with Rachael in the open. He'd even given that little pep talk about trust. Remember? Plus, he'd just pointlessly crushed Rachael's spirit. He was beginning to really piss me off. The tightness in my gut grew warm and melted into a nice, familiar glow of anger at Tom. We'd been here before. How many times had I wanted to punch him in the nose as kids and couldn't because I would certainly lose a physical contest? There are other ways to deal with him. Seizing the initiative, I stood up and pointed back. "Don't you dare, Thomas Jacob Hannover," I said slowly. "Don't even think it." Susan's mouth dropped open. Tom glowered silently. I held the point, turned to Rachael and held out my right arm, still watching Tom. "Come here sweetie. You didn't do anything wrong." She hugged me tight giving me a jolt of confidence. Tom lifted Susan like a bag of groceries and made to stand up, shaking his head no. He at least had the sense to keep his mouth shut so far but I had to think fast before he made some crude accusation in front of the girls that he could never take back. "Go on up to your room. I'll be up in a few minutes," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Hurry." "No you're not," Tom said. He placed Susan on the floor and stood up tall. "Come back here Rachael!" She was around the corner. "Go with her Suzy!" he said, pushing her forward. "What for?" she asked, confused, but she stumbled toward the doorway. When she'd rounded the corner he turned on me. He stepped closer, cracking his knuckles. Swear to God, he was cracking his knuckles like a thug. Did he think I wasn't intimidated enough before? That just pissed me off more. I glared at him long enough to determine that he wasn't going to kill me, yet, then rolled my eyes at him, turned and followed Susan out. He was right behind, so close I could hear his muttering over the TV. My spine tingled and itched the whole distance, waiting for a crushing blow from one of those big fists. It was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other n a straight line. We made it half way up the stairs before he broke. "You're not going in there alone," he said. He attempted to sound tough but there was a questioning edge to his voice that said I'd won. He wasn't going to beat me to death. A wave of relief washed away the nervousness, replacing it with a surge of power. Anger made me rash. "You can leave the door open if you want to wait outside," I said without turning. "Then Suzy stays in the room the whole time," he shouted from the hallway as I stepped into Rachael's room for the first time.. There were clothes, books and toys mixed together everywhere: on the floor, scattered across the foot of the bed and spilling out the closet door. Rachael sat at the head of the unmade bed with her face in another fashion magazine. Susan bounced a soccer hall expertly on one foot in one of the few clear spots. Both girls looked up expectantly. "Susan, go get your hair brush," I commanded, partly to piss off Tom. She shot out the door at a run. There was muttering from Tom and a loud bump as Susan careened down the hall. "What do you think that phrase means?" I asked Rachael quickly. She had an answer ready. "It - it means getting all dressed up," she said. "Doesn't it?" "Where did you hear it?" I hissed. "At school!" More noise from the hall. A bump. Another bump then a "DaaAAd!" from Susan and she was back, breathless, holding out the brush to me. Her hair had gotten even wilder. Somehow everybody in the house was waiting for me to do something. How the hell did that happen? "Sit down here on the floor and let me get started on your hair while we talk," I ordered Susan, speaking slowly to buy time. Together we cleared a spot on the floor and she positioned herself in front of the room's only chair, I sat down and began brushing. There was a cough from the hallway. Rachael wiped her cheeks with a tissue and composed herself. I took my sweet time with the brush, enjoying the quiet calm, the touch of Susan's hair on my legs, Rachael's pretty, eager face and most of all, Tom's discomfort. The idea of him hulking outside the door, afraid to enter a little girls room, made me smile. Rachael smiled back "So what's this about a dress?" I asked as casually as my thumping heart allowed. ++ Tom left after only a few minutes, no doubt bored by 'girly' talk. The stairs creak under his weight. Once he was gone Rachael recovered her previous spirits somewhat and for once Suzy sat still and appeared to be interested in some of the conversation. Still feeling the power from before I ventured a question about what their mom had taught them. Considering how lost they all seemed to be regarding some subjects I was concerned, but Beth had prepared both girls. She had home schooled them up until the last days of her life. They knew the basics at least, thank goodness: periods, where babies come from, pubic and armpit hair, that sort of thing. I was afraid to get into any details. Both girls already had a stack of books on the subject of their bodies anyway. I borrowed Susan's unopened set that night. I came down the stairs two hours later convinced of what needed to be done and with no idea how to go about it. For all I knew Tom was waiting downstairs to throw me out of his house, then where would I be? And who would be here to help the girls? One thing I was certain of, I wasn't ready to leave this house yet. But Tom had changed so much since we were kids it was difficult to guess his reaction. When we were teenagers I would have started the conversation with a joke and maybe a fart. Somehow, that didn't seem like the best way to convince Tom to accept advice about his children. Tom was back in his chair with a glass of whiskey, the basketball shoes still squeaking. I debated changing clothes into something more masculine before confronting him, I'm not sure why. In case he threw me out of the house? In the end it hardly seemed worth the trouble. In fact, I had a feeling that the feminine touches might have confused Tom's instincts enough to stay his hand earlier. Or maybe I still felt powerful and wanted to goad the bull a little more, who knows? I refreshed the shiny red lip gloss from the tube on Rachael's dresser, covered a couple of bumps with concealer and added a quick touch of the mascara wand we'd been practicing with recently. Let's see him say something. "I hope you're happy," is what he said, in a mopey, sarcastic tone that did nothing to make me feel sorry for him. I sat down and crossed my smooth legs. That attracted his eyes there, which was weird, so I crossed my arms too, suddenly not so sure about the makeup. I couldn't show weakness though. "As a matter of fact, I'm happier than I've been in a long, long time, thank you." I said."In spite of the fact that my own life is shit and my best friend is an asshole, I'm happy for the first time in a long time. Because of those girls." It was true He bristled for a moment then relaxed with a defeated sigh and his head flopped back onto the headrest. All the energy gone. "So just tell me what's going on Morgan," he said to the ceiling. "Tell me you aren't up to anything, umm, well, you know, weird." Here he had the courtesy to look me in the eye. "Tell you have this shit under control." Defeating Tom Hannover wasn't as fun as I remembered. And defeated is what he appeared to be. I'd stood up to him in his own home, in front of his daughters, seen his full fury and gotten away with it. The last person to pull that off was no doubt Bethany. Call me a soft touch but I began to feel a little sympathy for the stupid lug. "Do you know who Tiffany Hendricks is?" I asked. "There's a Donna Hendricks? Married to that guy, the car guy?" He asked, confused by the change of topic. "Yeah, Tiffany is the daughter. She goes to Rachael's school. That's where Rachael heard that phrase." He considered me for a moment, shaking his head sadly. Did he think I was lying or stupid? He had surely heard what Rachael said. "No. I don't buy it. That's a good family, its a good school and that girl can't be more than what, 13 or 14?" Who's the stupid one? I couldn't contain a burst of laughter. "Christ Tom! Do you even remember what you were doing at 14? Because I sure as hell remember it." "Yeah, but, I mean, not Rae, right?" he asked weakly. His sad little question didn't deserve an answer. Poor Tom was a such mess I could only be so mad at him in spite of his earlier behavior. I finished the story. "This Tiffany girl competes in beauty pageants, right? So when Rachael overheard her say she was thinking about 'going all the way,' your sweet innocent princess misunderstood. She thinks it means getting completely dressed up, like for a beauty pageant. You heard her, right?" No comment. "Do you understand?" I asked, louder. He was staring up at the ceiling again. Did he hear me? It seemed terribly important at the time that he acknowledge the whole affair had nothing to do with me and so far he had avoided that admission. He sniffed. The hall light reflected a wet line on his cheek. Oh fuck! Does everyone in this household cry all the time? A large crying man is not a pretty sight. The girls cried a little when we talked about their mom but they quickly recovered, cried out long ago. Tom had probably been holding it in for a long time, the way guys do. He didn't even know how to do it right: tears streamed down his cheeks, he gasped for breath and snorted wetly then wiped the back of a hand across the mess. There were tissues right there on the coffee table! I sat there like a bump, afraid to move, until the snot looked like it might drip on the carpet. Does that make me sound heartless? I wanted to help Tom but didn't know how. I could at least hand him the tissue box and prevent a mess at the same time. He took the hint. He honked into tissues, one after the other, then tossed them onto the coffee table. More tissues cleaned up his eyes, then some more wet honking. The pile of dirty tissues grew to double the size of the pile the girls had made. They had cleaned up their own mess. Guess who would be cleaning up this mess? I escaped the room by going to the kitchen for the wastebasket and another box of tissues. So what's a person to do in this bizarre situation? Everybody in the household was a mess, particularly Tom and he is the one who is supposed to be in charge. Tom is always in charge. That was the problem here. Beth had apparently run the household without his input and he was lost without her to make decisions. Was I brave enough to grab the job right in front of me? Standing in the kitchen door, watching Tom blubber into tissues then flick them onto the disgusting pile, I considered my options. I'd once considered asking him for a loan to get my own place so I could start looking for job. That was out of the question now unless I could somehow visit every day. The girls needed me. The thought of leaving them to get themselves ready in the morning only to come home to a cold, empty house every evening was impossible to imagine. Without money there was little I could do for anyone though. In fact, there were plenty of things I needed for myself, new clothes and maybe a second pair of shoes! It was obvious I would have to lean on Tom for money one way or another. Tom had hinted more than once that he needed a nanny that he could trust. If you think about, it was almost as if he was offering me the job. But Tom is the guy who taught me to curse and to chase pussy. An old image of Tom when he was 17 passed though my mind. He was cupping the naked breast of a drunk neighborhood woman by her pool, offering her to me with a wink. How could that guy be responsible for two young girls and who could possibly be more unqualified to help him than me? The one and only qualification I could offer is that I was so smitten with the girls by then I would do anything for them. I wanted that job so badly it hurt. Tom cleaned himself up a bit while I pushed the spent tissues into the wastebasket with a pen. When I sat the new tissue box on his lap I also grabbed the remote and clicked the TV off. The quiet was a relief. Then I sat and crossed my legs again. They got the same look, neither good or bad, just new and weird. "Here's how it's going to be," I said, hurrying to get it out the words before my resolved faded. "First, no more threats or accusations. You have to trust me." "Second, you have to give me the freedom to make decisions regarding the girls and what they wear. You would cover them in tarps if you could." He looked at me dumbly. His eyes and nose was red and wet and tiny bits of white tissue stuck to his lip stubble, making him appear to have a gray mustache. It wasn't clear whether he understood. "And third, I need money. Until I can find a job I'm going need to borrow some money from you." There, short and sweet. We could work out the details later. He chewed the corner of his mouth in a way that suggested he might start crying again but his puffy eyes looked angry and they kept shifting between face and legs in a way that suggested distaste. I couldn't help crossing my arms again and sinking into the sofa, confidence fading. "I mean, I just want to help the girls any way I can, that's all," I said after an uncomfortable minute, recalculating how far I was willing to backpedal. I needed to borrow money at the very least, then maybe I could find a way to help the girls. "Maybe I could borrow some money for a place?" I offered weakly. Tom nodded his head sadly as if making a fateful decision. He heaved his bulk out of the chair and stood there for a moment, swaying and nodding slightly with an expression that was difficult to interpret. There was still a possibility he might throw me out of the house physically. When he stepped forward I flinched. He walked slowly around the sofa to a small table on the other side of the room, pulled out a drawer and looked inside. "Yep, it's all here. Beth's ledger, her checkbook and the petty cash," he said, turning to look at me. "We'll have to get the household account in your name. She had a credit card in my name for online stuff. You can use that." That was an unexpected turn of events. You could have knocked me over with a feather. It wasn't until he tried to walk that I realized Tom was drunk. When he tried to turn he bumped the open drawer with his leg, sending the table against the wall with a squeal and another bump. He had to catch himself with a hand on the table top. "We'll work out the rest later," he said with an 'urp.' Then he finished the turn and stumbled out, banging his shoulder against the door frame on the way. The stairs creaked under his weight again. We hadn't resolved anything when you think about it. Tom was drunk and distraught for the whole conversation and he hadn't agreed to anything. Of course I looked in the drawer. There were black ledger books, bills and a woman's wallet with cards, a checkbook and a surprising amount of cash. I took a twenty dollar bill, crumpled it to hide in my palm and put the rest of the stuff away. Surely Tom didn't mean for me to take all that money but it had been a long time since I'd had much cash and that secret twenty made me feel secure. + In the morning the girls were up first, already eating bacon and eggs with their hair brushed and clipped when Tom walked in, dressed casually for work in jeans and a flannel shirt that made him look like an advertisement for cigarettes. He appeared to have not slept well but otherwise he was more chipper than I'd seen him since football season started. He patted Rachael's back, stole a slice of toast off her plate, tussled Suzy's hair, dislodging a clip, then flopped on a chair to regard us all with a happy smile. "So what's this about a dress?" he asked. That was my exact question from the night before. Rachael looked to me expectantly, clutching her hands in excitement, making me happy. I waved her toward her dad. "Ask him." It had taken me probably ten minutes the night before to figure out what she was talking about. The dress was blue, probably rayon or something like it , sleeveless and 'drappy' in front and it may or may not be somewhere in Beth's closet where nobody has set foot in the last year. It would be fun to watch Tom's attempts to understand Rachael's request, even with those clues to help them. "Why don't you just go in your Mom's closet and find it, OK? Then I'll know what it looks like." He said with a dismissive wave before she even finished the description we'd worked out. "Really? I can go in Mom's closet?" Rachael asked in a reverent whisper. Under the counter her legs fidgeted excitedly. "Well," Tom said slowly, "Let's not get carried away. I just want to see the dress. Why don't you run on up to my room and find it while I get some breakfast." She disappeared with an excited squeal, much the way Suzy usually exits a room, and Tom sauntered over to the stove and began picking at the scrambled eggs and bacon, popping in a surprising amount of food in a short time. Naturally I ached to say something, and throw a cup at his head, but held myself still. Events were unfolding just fine. I waved for Suzy to approach so I could fix her hair again. After all the fuss, you might be expecting something spectacular, or at least unusual? Sorry. On the hanger it looked like a plain blue tunic, like some ancient Greek costume except the blue was too rich. Nobody ever claimed it was special but once Tom became involved and allowed Rachael to take something from Beth's closet, the thing took on a special significance for him. He looked it over, studied the thin white belt also Rachael brought with her and pinched the material between two fingers. "It's certainly drappy," he said. "You just want to try it on?" "She wants to get 'all dressed up," I said, emphasizing the phrase I'd decided we should use for what Rachael had in mind, rather than 'going all the way.' "Remember?" "We can do our hair and makeup," Rachael said, spinning in place with the dress pressed against her front. "And wear hose and shoes," she added on the next revolution then stopped with a graceful bow. The color looked good on her. Tom looked at each of us in turn, digesting the situation - Perhaps remembering some part of our late night conversation? He had the frying pan in one fist, scooping the last of the eggs into his mouth with a piece of toast. "Right. Right. Yeah. OK. I don't see why not," he muttered between bites. He poked a toast point my way. "You're taking care of all this, right?" So he did it again. He backed me into a corner where the only way out was disappointing Rachael, something I was finding more and more difficult to accept. Worse, he managed, again, to avoid explaining what the fuck he wants me to do while simultaneously holding me responsible. Does he tell his football players to 'take care of it' with no more explanation than that? Not that it mattered for my answer. "Yes, of course," I said, checking Rachael's expression. She was smiling, so that was the correct answer. Can there be any doubt she would have a list? She probably already had one drawn up and it was a bit of a relief to think that it didn't apply to me this time. She would be the one getting all dressed up. "Alright then. Let's get out of here," Tom said, leaving me to clean the kitchen with the dress hanging there. I never once thought of putting it on, honestly. + Our first dress up day a few days later was a simple affair compared to these days. Rachael pulled out all the stops she knew about then and I helped such as I could. She easily talked her dad into wearing one of his many suits. He correctly surmised that no more would be asked of him beyond a stern look to convince Suzy to take a bath and put on clean shorts and a nice top. Naturally, I didn't have a thing to wear. If I'd owned a suit I might have worn it that day and my life might be completely different. Rachael wanted everyone to do the whole 'spa day' thing. Suzy begged off immediately, as if we'd asked her to kiss frogs (which I've since seen her do.) Tom agreed to shower after cutting the grass. Quite a concession, right? So I felt like I had to do the spa day for Rae, which meant shaving legs and all that involved. If Tom saw it as as hardship to soak in a warm tub and smell good then who am I to tell him otherwise? Our hair and makeup took over an hour. An hour of fun actually. Tom would have grumbled the whole time and if we'd attempted to apply makeup to Susan, well, I can't help picturing a snarling, blonde cat. While we worked (or played, depending on your point of view) Rachael opened up and told a dozen stories about school that provided interesting insight. Finally I closed Rachael's bedroom door and trudged downstairs to attempt to 'dress-up' with the assortment of cast off garments that made up my wardrobe. The panties and hose gave that secure, 'tucked in' feeling and made my legs look sexy, so I put on hospital scrub pants over that and my sneakers. The front of my Polo shirt showed lumps in the chest so I added another and flipped up the collars. Not exactly dressy but a fair balance between the feminine and masculine I thought. As always, it was very unclear what role I was supposed to be playing. Rachael didn't come downstairs to help with dinner. She had to be fully dressed, which couldn't have taken more than five seconds. What the hell was she doing in there? Susan and Tom shuffled around the kitchen for a while in their 'dress-up' clothes, stealing bites off the stove and grumbling their discomfort, then they shuffled out and the TV came on. It was going to be my job to figure out what was going on with Rachael apparently. When she cracked the door I could see a pair of high heels on the floor by her bed, blue like the dress. "What's going on up here?" I asked, keeping it light. "Dinner's ready." She didn't open the door any wider and I didn't push while she moved around the room. She kicked the heels out of sight under the bed and a moment later pulled the door open to reveal herself in the dress and the pale blue flats she wears to school some days. The dress was far to large for her, especially the front where loose folds of blue fabric hung lower than her waist revealing a wide strip of her narrow chest. 'Tom will flip out,' I thought. "I'm having a little trouble with my outfit," she said, plucking at the loose folds. "How about I pin that up for you?" I asked, attempting to sound like I knew how to do such a normal thing as pin up a dress. Something had to be done though. She had safety pins and between us we managed to cinch up the straps enough to cover her somewhat, which drew the waist and hem up enough that she didn't look like a 1920s flapper. The two of us pinched and tugged in the mirror until she was well covered anyway. The fabric was so soft I couldn't help wondering what it would be like to wear, especially over pantyhose like Rachael was doing. She kept brushing her hands over her hips and swirling in a way that suggested it felt wonderful. That taken care of, I couldn't help asking, "May I see what you look like in the shoes?" "Wha, What do you mean?" she asked in a guilty squeak. I knelt and pulled the shoes from under the bed. Sexy, spike pumps in the exact shade of blue as the dress. They must go together. She squirmed in place. "Please don't tell Dad I took them," she pleaded. "I mean, they go with the dress and all." "Nobody's telling your dad anything. Just try them on for me." It was obvious she had been practicing in the shoes. The were at least two sizes to large for her and incredibly tall so the fact that she could even stand and hobble across the room at all meant she'd been practicing a lot. Even so, they made her look like what she was; a young girl wearing mom's overlarge clothes. Rather than make her appear more mature, the dress and shoes accentuated how childish her figure still was. Tom would still flip out of course, so there was no question of Rachael wearing the shoes out of her room. But one day she would wear shoes like those. Beth did at some point in her life. I took off a sneaker and pressed one of the shoes to my foot. It was very tight but with a little force the foot slid in, aided by the slick stocking, squeezing my toes but not pinching too badly really. Rachael watched me intently, holding out the other shoe. Even setting that one foot on the floor with the giant spike on the heel proved too much for me. It caught the carpet, twisted my foot and threatened to topple me over before I'd even put any weight on it. That was too much. I kicked off the absurd shoe and bent to lace the sneaker back on. "Hide them under your bed. Don't wear them unless I know about it, in case you break your neck. Agreed?" She nodded enthusiastically, stuffed the shoes in her closet then stood there, watching me check my face in the mirror. We didn't have much makeup on but I kept checking Rachael's face for flaws and was beginning to wonder how my own was holding up. It was fine. "I should have gotten you a dress, too," she said, studying me from the closet door. "Don't be ridiculous. This whole situation is already too weird without putting me in a dress," I said with a laugh, waving up and down at my legs, face and hair. She didn't laugh. "Isn't it weird to you? You do know I'm a ... you know?" Why couldn't I say 'man?' Maybe because when I thought of the word I pictured Tom. "No. No! It's not weird," she cried and rushed at me for a hug where she mumbled into my neck, "Mom sent you to help us." How do you reply to that? If only it were true. Beth's presence in the house was undeniable. I felt it every day. Not a ghostly presence, she wasn't flickering candles or banging pots, but she was there in the furnishings and the cookware, in the girl's manners and the way Tom controlled his temper now. More than once I asked myself what she would do and seemed to find an answer that worked, even when I didn't like the answer. And by all accounts Bethany Hannover was an incredible woman outside the home. One could do much worse in life than be to sent to fill in for her. We made it all night without another squeal, shriek or angry word, thank you very much. Tom even complimented our efforts surprisingly gracefully considering the dinner was cold and he clearly did not like something about Rachael in that dress. We even had a real talk later that night after he tucked the girls in. Things were looking up.