And now sleep wouldn't come. I'd begged off, complained of tiredness and a headache and headed upstairs. I could hear everything. Angie's deep sleep breathing in the next room. Craig's voice, not the words but just the tone, a low murmur, and Ashley's replies.

I'd never felt more like a dirty old man, despite being just 32. But it was lifetimes away from 15, and Ashley was like some ripe piece of fruit, all filled with juices. And I felt this odd competition with Craig over Ashley's affections, but this I'd felt before. From the moment I'd met Craig I was in competition with him. He was seven when I met Julia, a happy go lucky smart little seven year old and I had to vie with him for her attention, and that was my first acquaintance with that slick, sick dirty feeling of needing to edge someone out so I could be in.

Julia. Dead four years now. In some ways four years hasn't erased her at all. I'll dream she's there, just next to me in the bed or standing at the sink drying dishes or smiling at me with her crazy grin. And I'll forget the lonely four years without her, forget the cold empty side of her bed. But in other ways she has eroded away, almost too slow to notice it, but I can't remember the exact shade of her eyes or the pitch of her voice or the sound of her laugh. Photographs don't quite capture what I remember about her, or used to remember. And there's only a set number of the photos, and the more I look at them the less I see, the less I can see. And that makes her seem even more dead, more gone.

I heard the door shut and knew she was gone but I also knew she'd be back tomorrow. And the tomorrow after that. And I couldn't hide out in my office lusting over her, closing my eyes and seeing her sweet smile, her smooth skin, her red brown hair, blood red nails and pouty lips. So jealous of Craig because he'd won this time, just by virtue of being young, being in the right place at the right time, and I couldn't edge him out.

Snapped awake at four a.m., the sky stubbornly dark, and Ashley's last dream words vibrating in my head, 'That's nice, Mr. Jeremiah,' breathy low voice and I sat up fast.

Downstairs, gold light creeping into the sky, coffee brewing with its little hisses and gurgles, Angela's footsteps on the stairs.

"Good morning," I said, and she nodded at me, squinted at me with her puffy, half asleep eyes. Then Craig came down, just as sleepy, filling a mug with coffee, and I looked at him from the corner of my eye, willing him to say he'd be going somewhere, anywhere after school. But he didn't say anything.

Once we were all in our uniforms for the day, me in a shirt and tie, Angie in a plaid skirt and pigtails, Craig in jeans and a rock tee shirt, we piled in my car and headed off.

"Oh, Joey," Craig said as we pulled up to the school, "Ashley's parents are going out of town this week, so can she come over for dinner?"

I drop Ang off first so it was just us and Craig looked younger in that jean jacket than he did in that black leather jacket, smooth young face, longish curly hair. And how did I look? Lines on my face, caught between the true youth of my 20's and the beginning of age in my 40's. Old.

"All week?" I said, hoping he didn't catch the edge of panic in my voice. But Craig was smart, and very observant, especially of me. I figured it was because of Albert, when Craig lived with him and had to try to foresee every punch and whip with the belt. He looked at me sharp, eyebrows in a sharp V. He caught it.

"Yeah. All week. Is it alright?" He caught my odd tone but couldn't interpret it. Maybe he couldn't fathom someone who had slept with his mother would also want to sleep with his girlfriend.

'Get ahold of yourself, Jeremiah,' I said sternly in my head. I was sickened by myself. I felt hot and cold.

"Yeah, no, um…sure. No, that's fine. Of course she can come over for dinner,"

He favored me with one more suspicious, puzzled glance and took off, walking in his slow slouchy way toward Ashley, who waited for him on the steps.