CHAPTER 2

Daisy entered the kitchen, yawning and stirring. "Good morning uncle Jesse," she approached her uncle who was sitting at the table, she stopped behind him, her hands on his shoulders, she bent forward and she kissed his cheek.

"Good morning Daisy," uncle Jesse turned to his niece, smiling, "breakfast is ready."

"Thanks." Moving inside the little kitchen, Daisy took a plate from the cupboard and she walked to the stove, a frying pan with scrambled eggs on it. That scent: she recalled her strange dream; she rested the empty plate on the table and she shook her head, her appetite totally gone.

"Something's wrong, Daisy?"

"I ain't hungry, uncle Jesse," turning around, she walked again to the cupboard, avoiding uncle Jesse's look as if he could read her dream through her eyes, she took her cup and she filled it with coffee, "just a cup of coffee, for me, this morning."

"Are you feeling sick?" uncle Jesse rested his fork in his plate, looking carefully at her, "your cheeks are red," his hand gently touched her forehead, checking her temperature, "no fever. Are you sure you're fine?"

Daisy blushed even more, her eyes down while her blushing betrayed her discomfort, "I'm OK… just…" she shook her head, keeping her eyes down, "a bad night. I didn't sleep very well, probably 'cause I was still…," she stopped, knowing that any word could betray her.

"You're right. Yesterday was a strange day: the charges against Enos, the thieves, the wedding…," uncle Jesse had a deep sigh, "but for sure it wasn't the strangest day we've faced," he smiled, resting his hand on Daisy's forearm.

Daisy answered his smile, still avoiding his eyes, "Yeah, a strange day…," she drank her coffee and she stood up, "Gotta go, now. See you later," she kissed again uncle Jesse's cheek and she left the kitchen, her eyes carefully avoiding her uncle's eyes.

Looking at the door closing behind Daisy's shoulders, uncle Jesse half closed his eyes, thoughtfully, "Something's wrong with that girl," he sipped his coffee, "better keep an eye on her."

What's the sense of her dream?

Uncle Jesse was right: the previous day was really frenetic, too many things happened, so many things that, when she went to bed, she was still in a strange state of excitement.

Yeah, that state of excitement was a perfect explanation of that strange and vivid dream.

SO vivid!

A sudden heat rose from her feet to her face, and she felt like if she was steaming.

The cracking of glass and a sudden pain in her right forefinger woke her up: she looked at the broken glass in the sink and at her blood tingeing the water with a soft shade of red. That vision sucked her into reality, the Boar's Nest reality: splashing of water in the sink, smell of smoke and beer, men's voices and steps around her as people came in and came out the room.

"Possum on a gum bush, Daisy! Are you OK?"

And his voice.

She wrapped a cloth around her right forefinger, "I'm OK, honey," she glanced at Enos' worried face and she smiled, "don't worry, just a small cut," she knelt down and she opened the shutter near the sink, grabbing the medicine chest.

Her right forefinger useless, she fought with the medicine chest until Enos gently took it off her hands.

"Let me help you, Daisy."

She stared at him opening the small medicine chest and taking her right hand in his one, unwrapping the cloth around her forefinger, staring at the cut, disinfecting it and covering it with a plaster.

"Thanks honey. You're such a gentleman," her smile grew wider, reflecting his wide smile. He was flattered by her compliment; flattering him was so easy, and with a sense of guilty Daisy thought of how many times she flattered him in order to distract him.

"I'm just used to plasters and cuts," he raised his right forefinger, showing a plaster on it, "yesterday I cut my forefinger," he laughed, his usual brief and funny laughing.

Yesterday: Daisy recalled that plaster on his right forefinger and how he was fidgeting with it whereas they were talking in front of the Boar's Nest, her in her wedding dress and him in his tight. She recalled also his hives.

"And how's the hives?" her left forefinger touched gently the shading red marks on his face, tracing a line between a red sign on his right cheek and another one on his chin, "less red than yesterday. Does it hurt?"

He had a step back, parting from her touch, "Uh, no, it doesn't hurt. It itches," his right hand at his nape, scratching it, he blushed, the new red on his skin swallowing the hives' marks.

The image of his naked chest and belly, those red marks on him, provoked a new rush of heat from Daisy's feet to her face.

So vivid, that dream was so vivid: everything surfaced to her mind.

"Are you OK, Daisy?"

She pushed back those vivid and erotic images, "I'm OK, don't worry. It's hot, here, don't you think?" she fanned herself using her hands, "I think it's because of the crowd and … also because of the cut. I admit that blood scares me."

"I thought that nothing could scare you, Daisy," he looked at her with a dreamy smile and his eyes wide open, his adoring way to look at her.

"Oh Enos," she bent forward across the counter, her right elbow on it while her left hand reached his tie, grabbing it but not pulling it to her, "you're really such a gentleman." She stared at his black tie, her fingers testing its fabric as if she was a seamstress.

She didn't pull him to her but he walked closer the counter, relaxed by her friendly gesture and kind words.

"You want a glass of buttermilk, don't you?" she forgot about his tie and she looked up at him.

"Yeah, thanks," he nodded and smiled.

They were at the Boar's Nest and she was a waitress: reality, she focused on reality.

Finally resting her chin on her right hand, her right elbow on the counter, as many times in the past she looked at him drinking his buttermilk, enjoying his final white mustache but repressing her new desire to wipe out that white with a kiss.

Her lips pressed against his ones.

She kissed him, again and again, and, after her kiss, his white mustache were gone.

"But are you sure you don't want me to prepare breakfast? It would take only few minutes."

He shook his head, "I'd like it, but I'd be late at work," his hands reached his tie.

"OK, I'll prepare you a great dinner," her hands on his ones, she blocked him. She knotted his tie, her fingers rubbing its fabric, "Boss should give you a better tie. It's rough."

He shrugged, "Mr. Hogg…" No need of other words.

"OK. Go, now. Or you'll be late at work, and I don't want Boss fires you," her hand slid from his chest to his belly, enjoying his skin's warmth through his shirt's fabric.

Looking at him as he came out the kitchen's door of their small farm, Daisy waved him goodbye, smiling.

After waving him goodbye, her hands rested on her belly, her t-shirt stretched on it: when the life inside her moved, she laughed, "Hey baby, stop kicking your mummy."

Rolling on her left side, Daisy thought she was going to squeeze her belly, but when she realized she was lying on her belly, she understood, with surprise, that there was no belly to squeeze, no belly stopping her turning.

Her belly was flat, totally flat.

She sat up in her bed at the farm, looking at her bedroom.

"Oh gosh, what…?" she covered her face with her hands, "Am I goin' crazy?"