. Excuses fled hand-in-hand with rational thought as my sister slid onto the bed, kneeling between my legs, the T-shirt riding up to her waist. I swal...owed, dry-mouthed.Still not speaking, her fingers grasped the edge of the sheet. Violet looked up at me. I knew what she was after. She was seeking permission.My nod was so small it might have been a nervous tic. But it was enough. She smiled like a child on Christmas morning.Violet lowered her eyes and drew her hands down slowly, taking away the. It was not a normal part of her personality. Anxious to be anonymous, yes, but that’s not paranoia. With the way we live our lives, being fingered as what we were would be a disaster that would probably land us in jail or a sanitarium. It’s not paranoia if they are really out to get you.“It’s not a Caprice, it’s an Impala,” I said, “White, missing a hubcap on the driver’s side, mud covered front plate.”“Yuh see it tuh, huh?”“I do now,” I responded, “I’ve seen it a few too many times over the. More

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