sister, there were glances that left her occasionally uneasy. These had been a part of his relationship with her since the elder had entered puberty. Only five years apart, there seemed more than that between them. On occasion, the woman wondered if there was a deeper gulf dividing them.
What caused her most distress was other women did not attract his attention in the same manner. If they had, she supposed, Chrislann’s abiding interest in her would have naturally shifted to others. Since he never focused on these others, she worried what he was thinking when he stared at her—but only when he did not believe she noticed. Her sense of his eyes on her never faded when they were together. Even when Chrislann was not looking at her, Glenna sensed he was thinking of her—aching for her. There was little reason to suppose the latter, but she could never escape the sense of his hunger.
“You’ve,” Chrislann again attempting to avoid looking at her and examining a dusty, single flower vase, “used that excuse for just about everyone that has been late to, or skipped, a meeting.” Glenna turned and walked into the kitchen to put some distance between herself and the man she no longer felt safe with. Sitting in the chair, Glenna looked up to see him in the doorway staring down at her. He was handsome: tall, lithe, athletic, with the same eyes as his sister, both of which came from their mother, short black hair, their father’s floppy lobes, and hands that were a bit knobbly at the joints. The last were said to come from their maternal grandmother, but she’d died years before either had been born.
Whether her death had come from suicide or murder was unclear. Their grandfather had been a passionate and domineering man—they saw a little of this in his last years—but he had also loved his wife. There had been abuse, but because of the family’s position in both government and industry, charges had never been brought. This also had occurred in a time when the laws were weighted against women. Glenna believed it was murder, but Chrislann asserted he was not certain. Secretly, Glenna believed he was just attempting to placate her. Either he believed it to be suicide or that their grandmother had been unfaithful—the rumor had been common enough in the circle of friends they still had. In many ways, Glenna was certain her brother was a throwback to another time. One more reason he hated Titus—and it was hate.
Though feigning distrust for racial and national reasons, the truth was that it was sexual jealousy and pride. Chrislann was to take care of her when their father was not around—but even when he was, the man was weak and sycophantic. Chrislann never tired of pointing this out to Glenna and their mother, when she was still alive. Much of the problem, Glenna again supposed, was just how close mother and son had been. She was not interested in supposing the closeness unnatural, but this never waned in later years when Chrislann should have been looking for a wife. Their mother always maintained that there was plenty of time for that and besides, she and Glenna needed him close so they would be safe.
Safe from what was never made clear, but Glenna supposed it was the woman’s way of taking a dig at her husband. Henry, it was true, was a weak man—but he was also a womanizer, a poor father, and a non-existent role model. The consequence was that their mother, unable or unwilling to find a proper replacement, took her son for the role and never knew what she was doing to him or his sister. When she did die, her brother’s attention shifted dramatically from the absent mother to the surrogate sister. That both of them were busily working their way through a tedious cliché was not lost on her, but it did not make living with the man any easier—hence the number of lovers she’d gone through. There were even a couple of pregnancies Chrislann had had terminated, though these remained illegal even when other
What caused her most distress was other women did not attract his attention in the same manner. If they had, she supposed, Chrislann’s abiding interest in her would have naturally shifted to others. Since he never focused on these others, she worried what he was thinking when he stared at her—but only when he did not believe she noticed. Her sense of his eyes on her never faded when they were together. Even when Chrislann was not looking at her, Glenna sensed he was thinking of her—aching for her. There was little reason to suppose the latter, but she could never escape the sense of his hunger.
“You’ve,” Chrislann again attempting to avoid looking at her and examining a dusty, single flower vase, “used that excuse for just about everyone that has been late to, or skipped, a meeting.” Glenna turned and walked into the kitchen to put some distance between herself and the man she no longer felt safe with. Sitting in the chair, Glenna looked up to see him in the doorway staring down at her. He was handsome: tall, lithe, athletic, with the same eyes as his sister, both of which came from their mother, short black hair, their father’s floppy lobes, and hands that were a bit knobbly at the joints. The last were said to come from their maternal grandmother, but she’d died years before either had been born.
Whether her death had come from suicide or murder was unclear. Their grandfather had been a passionate and domineering man—they saw a little of this in his last years—but he had also loved his wife. There had been abuse, but because of the family’s position in both government and industry, charges had never been brought. This also had occurred in a time when the laws were weighted against women. Glenna believed it was murder, but Chrislann asserted he was not certain. Secretly, Glenna believed he was just attempting to placate her. Either he believed it to be suicide or that their grandmother had been unfaithful—the rumor had been common enough in the circle of friends they still had. In many ways, Glenna was certain her brother was a throwback to another time. One more reason he hated Titus—and it was hate.
Though feigning distrust for racial and national reasons, the truth was that it was sexual jealousy and pride. Chrislann was to take care of her when their father was not around—but even when he was, the man was weak and sycophantic. Chrislann never tired of pointing this out to Glenna and their mother, when she was still alive. Much of the problem, Glenna again supposed, was just how close mother and son had been. She was not interested in supposing the closeness unnatural, but this never waned in later years when Chrislann should have been looking for a wife. Their mother always maintained that there was plenty of time for that and besides, she and Glenna needed him close so they would be safe.
Safe from what was never made clear, but Glenna supposed it was the woman’s way of taking a dig at her husband. Henry, it was true, was a weak man—but he was also a womanizer, a poor father, and a non-existent role model. The consequence was that their mother, unable or unwilling to find a proper replacement, took her son for the role and never knew what she was doing to him or his sister. When she did die, her brother’s attention shifted dramatically from the absent mother to the surrogate sister. That both of them were busily working their way through a tedious cliché was not lost on her, but it did not make living with the man any easier—hence the number of lovers she’d gone through. There were even a couple of pregnancies Chrislann had had terminated, though these remained illegal even when other
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