sex in the early years

"It's been broken before. Why do men get drunk and beat up each other?" It was an excellent question and Ray had no answer. She gulped her tea and closed her eyes to savor it. Many years ago, Ellie Crum had been a lovely woman. But now, in her late forties, she had stopped trying. "You don't care for him, do you?" Ray asked. "Of course I do." "No, really?" "Is it important?" "He's my brother. No one else cares about him." "We had great sex in the early years, then we just lost interest. I got fat, now I'm too involved with my work." Ray glanced around the room. "And besides, there's always sex," she said, nodding to the door from which Trudy had come and gone. "Forrest is a friend, Ray. I suppose I love him, at some level. But he's also an addict who seems determined to always be an addict. After a point, you get frustrated." "I know. Believe me, I know." "And I think he's one of the rare ones. He's strong enough to pick himself up at the last possible moment." "But not strong enough to kick it." "Exactly. I kicked it, Ray, fifteen years ago. Addicts are tough on each other. That's why he's in the basement." He's probably happier down there, Ray thought. He thanked her for the tea and the time, and she walked him to the door. She was still standing there, behind the screen, when he raced away. Chapter 22 The estate of Reuben Vincent Atlee was opened for probate in the courtroom where he had presided for thirty-two years. High on the oak-paneled wall behind the bench, a grim-faced Judge Atlee looked down upon the proceedings from between the Stars and Stripes and the state flag of Mississippi. It was the same portrait they had placed near his coffin during the courthouse wake three weeks earlier. Now it was back where it belonged, in a place where it would undoubtedly hang forever.