February, 1984

Lindsay hurried into her room, threw her backpack on the floor, and went straight to her closet. She stood on her toes and reached for the top shelf, feeling around for her copy of Flowers in the Attic. She found it and pulled it down from the shelf, then jumped onto her bed and rapidly flipped through the pages, trying to find her place.

That morning she'd gotten ready for school as quickly as she could so she would have time to read. She'd just gotten to the part where Chris came into the bathroom while Cathy was admiring her naked body in the mirror when Michael called to her from downstairs to tell her it was time to go. She'd frantically read two more paragraphs before he'd called her again to ask what was taking so long, after which she'd quickly returned the book to its hiding place and hurried downstairs. She'd spent the whole day at school dying to know what happened next.

She found her place and resisted the temptation to read from where she'd left off, starting instead where Chris first came into the room. Now that she had time she wanted to read it slowly to fully take it in.

A rippling sensation on the back of my neck gave me the awareness that someone was near, and watching. I whirled about suddenly to catch Chris standing in the deep shadows of the closet. Silently he'd come from the attic. How long had he been there? Had he seen all the silly, immodest things I'd done? Oh, God, I hoped not!

He stood as one frozen. A queer look glazed his blue eyes, as if he'd never seen me before without my clothes on—and he had, many a time. Perhaps when the twins were there, sun- bathing with us, he kept his thoughts brotherly and pure, and didn't really stare.

His eyes lowered from my flushed face down to my breasts, then lower, and lower, and down to my feet before they traveled upward ever so slowly.

I stood trembling, uncertain, wondering what to do that wouldn't make me seem a foolish prude in the judgment of a brother who knew well how to mock me when he chose. He seemed a stranger, older, like someone I had never met before. He also seemed weak, dazed, perplexed, and if I moved to cover myself, I'd steal from him something he'd been starving to see. Time seemed to stand still as he lingered in the closet, and I hesitated before the dresser which revealed to him the rear view, too, for I saw his eyes flick to the mirror to take in what that reflected.

"Chris, please go away."

He didn't seem to hear.

He only stared.

I blushed all over and felt perspiration under my arms, and a funny pounding began in my pulse. I felt like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, guilty of some petty crime, and terribly afraid of being severely punished for almost nothing. But his look, his eyes, made me come alive, and my heart began a fierce, mad throbbing, full of fright. Why should I be afraid? It was only Chris.

For the first time I felt embarrassed, ashamed of what I had now, and quickly I reached to pick up the dress I'd just taken off. Behind that I would shield myself, and I'd tell him to go away.

"Don't," he said when I had the dress in my hands.

"You shouldn't. . ." I stammered, trembling more.

"I know I shouldn't be, but you look so beautiful. It's like I never saw you before. How did you grow so lovely, when I was here all the time?"

How to answer a question like that? Except to look at him, and plead with my eyes.

Just then, behind me, a key turned in the door lock.

"Damn!" Lindsay whispered. She read a few more paragraphs, then flipped ahead when it was clear nothing more was going to happen, scanning the pages. A promising sentence caught her eye: "That night I went to sleep thinking about his kiss." She stopped reading, deciding she didn't want to spoil the surprise. She memorized the page number so she would know how close she was to it, then turned back to the page she was on and continued reading.

A few days ago a friend had told her about a book she'd read about a girl locked in an attic who has sex with her brother. Lindsay was immediately intrigued and asked to borrow her copy. Since then she'd been secretly reading it every chance she got. She felt a little uncomfortable about enjoying it so much, but it was only because it was so taboo. It had nothing to do with how she felt about Michael, or her other brothers.