(A crime novel in the works…if you’re new, please head over to the Archives section, to the July 16th post, They Had the Right to Remain Silent (1), where it all begins.  Otherwise, if you’re up to speed, let’s start another chapter.  Thanks for dropping in.)
They Had the Right to Remain Silent
Richard S. Jachimecki
Chapter ( xxxiv )
     THE SUN HAD RISEN ABOVE the neighboring homes and trees across the street. A ray sneaked through the sliver of spacing between the drapes of the bedroom window and fell on Lana’s face. She opened her eyes, then squinted from the beam’s irritation. She shifted her naked body toward the center of the bed to get out of its path, and stopped when she felt her back resting up against the skin of Terrance’s chest. He let out a low moan and his right arm crossed over her, resting on her shoulder. She moved in closer, now their bodies in full contact. His left hand and arm slid between her and the mattress; she was always surprised at his strength and ability to move her as if she were weightless. She took his hands in hers and brought them to her breasts.
     “Good morning,” she whispered, “where did all that energy come from last night?”
     He kissed the nape of her neck.
     “You wiped me out,” she said, “but I loved every minute of it.”
     “You can do that to me,” he said, “I’ve been missing this.”
     “I know,” she said, “we haven’t had any time for ourselves, not for a while.”
     “We’ve got time now,” he said, turning her over to face him.
     She could feel him growing, and he lifted himself. She moved underneath him and pulled him to her with her arms and legs, wanting to feel him inside, to be one with him. Their lovemaking was passionate and strong, and they remained in each others’ arms after climax, letting their chests naturally fall in sync with their deep breaths.
     She kissed his shoulder, “I’ll go make some coffee,” she said.
     “I’ll take care of it,” he said, “stay here as long as you like.”
     She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him one last kiss, “OK,” she agreed.
     He rose from the bed, then tucked the covers around her. He found his drawstring flannel lounge pants in a pile on the floor, where he had thrown them in haste the previous evening. He slid them on, then went to the closet and took out his robe and slippers. He donned the robe and tied its sash while he slid his feet into the fleece- lined moccasins. Getting out of the cozy bed caused a shiver, and he heard the air from the floorboard’s heat vent start, as he headed for the door.
     Lana heard the thumps of Terrance’s heavy footsteps on the stairs, as he descended to the first floor. She curled up into a fetal position, hugged a pillow, and enjoyed reliving the moment in her mind.
     Terrance went down the hallway and pushed the swing door open to the kitchen, where he found Parker, busy at the center island. Parker sat on a stool, deeply engrossed in the process of trying to get the strawberry syrup that was layered at the bottom of a glass to mix with the milk above it. Thoughts of mad scientist came to Terrance’s mind, as Parker swirled a spoon, causing a good portion of the milk to spill out of the glass onto the countertop.
     “Whoa, there, Doctor,” Terrance said, breaking Parker’s trance, “there’s got to be a better way.”
     Terrance went to an upper cabinet and opened its door. He removed another glass, then brought it over to the island, setting it down next to Parker’s.
     “You’re up early,” Terrance said, taking the filled glass and pouring its contents into to the new empty one, leaving only the syrup stuck to the bottom. He took the milk jug, still on the countertop, and poured a small amount onto the syrup, then stirred the red juice with the spoon until it dissolved, leaving a pink concoction.
     “Early? Daddy, it’s almost eleven o’clock,” Parker said, as he watched his father mix the liquids together, into the original glass.
     “Oh, shi..oot,” Terrance said, glancing at the clock, as he took the milk container and returned it to the refrigerator, then took a washcloth from the island’s sink, turned on the faucet and rinsed it, then wrung out the cloth and wiped the countertop clean. He rinsed the cloth once more and hung it over the middle divider of the double- sink.
     “You want some eggs?” he asked Parker.
     “Cap’n Crunch,” Parker said, finishing his first gulp, which left a pink mustache on his upper lip.
     “Get a bowl,” Terrance said, and Parker went to a cabinet, then removed a bowl from its shelf, and returned with it, placing it in front of him on the island.
     Terrance crossed to the pantry, took out the box of cereal, a coffee filter and the plastic cannister of grounds, then set them all on the island. While Terrance’s back was turned, Parker took a napkin, then removed the top to the cookie jar, located in the middle of the countertop. He took out two cookies, placed them next to the bowl, then covered the cookies with the napkin. Terrance noticed the opened cookie jar, as he scooped grounds from the cannister into the coffee filter.
     “That’s a pretty lumpy napkin you’ve got there,” Terrance said, lifting the paper to reveal Parker’s stash, “you planning on desert?”
     “They’re peanut butter,” Parker argued, “one of my favorites.”
     “Your mother would kill me,” Terrance said, then reasoned, “but peanuts have protein. Two…no more,” he placed the cover back on the jar, then took the filled filter and crossed over to the coffee maker on the countertop under the cabinets. He he lifted the lid on the coffee maker, then placed the filter and grounds into the top basket. He pulled the sprayer hose from the sink on that counter and filled the machine’s reservoir, flipped down the lid then pressed the brew switch. Parker poured the cereal into his bowl while Terrance took the milk out of the refrigerator.
     “How are you liking football practice?” he asked, as he added milk to the bowl, then returned the jug to the fridge.
     “It’s OK,” Parker said, “but can I ask you something?”
     “Did you ever wanna be quarterback?”
     “Every lineman does, son.”
     “Why din’cha?”
     “Well, sometimes you have to use the talents God gave you. I didn’t have those skills, but I was good at other things.”
     “Like kickin’ butt?”
     “Where did you hear that?”
     “Grampa T.”

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