She's about your age, very pretty but a little different." She had cancer?" I asked.Mom ignored the question. "Come on," she said, reaching out to grab my sandwich-free hand. "Look."As soon as I looked up, Mom retrieved her hand and used both to heft her breasts."See...healthy as a horse." What about the cancer?" I asked, my eyes staying on Mom's breasts, nicely show-cased by the curved brackets of her hands."False alarm," Mom said as if it was a little thing but I noted a trace of relief that belied her light-hearted dismissal. Mom had obviously been scared silly, the little twitch in her cheek betraying her true feelings. She must have been afraid for her life."So you're ok?" I persisted."Absolutely," Mom banged her hand flat on the table for emphasis. "But your Dad...now, I'm not sure he's alright." Why?" Well, all these changes have upset him, especially me wanting to be a sculptor." Sculptress," I corrected her. I have no idea why I said that."Sculptress. I like the sound of. She opened the armory and issued weapons tothe staff, grabbing a Colt 1911 ACP for herself, along with an M-16with full auto. She was running through the defenses in her head.Claymores, motion sensors, video cameras and other booby traps.She debated collapsing the staircase, but decided it made a better killzone if they tried to use it. Her staff cook was an expert with a SAW(light machine gun) and was assembling it as she watched.Lady Jean had almost been killed several times defending a positionalmost forty years ago and was going to be damned if she would let themthrough hers now. She remembered when the nurses had been offeredrifles and asked to help hold the line. It was never supposed tohappen, and never had, officially.Sean Cottrell was angry every time he closed his jaw. Thereconstruction was never quite right, and the source of constant pain.That kid had caught him just right and smashed the hinge joint beyondrecognition. He had spent the better part of the year going to.
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