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Stacey's story continues on a business trip.

Nobody's around, anyway - so there's not much else to do." We drove the few blocks back to the house, and walked in to the ambrosiac smell of Dad's Sunday chicken.

After we finished Sunday dinner, Mom and I returned to church, bringing with us Mom's substantial supply of cleaning agents. The church had the charming, if somewhat comic, name of "Our Lady of Perpetual Help." I hoped that, at least for this afternoon, the help would not be perpetual. We entered from the back, walking up the aisle after Mom dutifully crossed herself with holy water. With no body heat, the church was even colder now, and there were only a few older women in front, taking stock of their cleaning supplies and doling out chores. We walked up to join them. "Oh, Kristen - I'm so glad to see you home - and here to help," Betty, the organist, croaked as we came in - Betty could play, but she could not sing, and her voice had the resonance of a rotting, rusty gate. "Let's see - who's all here?" she consulted her list, "The Johnson's - the Bjornson's - the O'Malley's." My heart stopped a beat, and I gulped so loudly I was sure everyone there could hear it. No one paid any attention, though, and Betty continued with her list. "O'Malley's not here yet -" she muttered, and, from the back of the church, a voice boomed, "We're here - we're a bit late - but we're here." And in walked the O'Malley family - Mr. O'Malley, Mrs. O'Malley - and Trey O'Malley. Betty smiled, "Okay, then, let's get going - good to see you, Trey - I was just telling Kristen - so good to see the young people back." Trey flashed me a smile, which I tried to return. I'm sure it seemed more of a death's head grin.

Trey was, quite possibly, the best lover - up to that point in my life anyway - I'd ever had. We had experienced kink together, had tied each other up, had sex, once in a cemetery, on top of a grave. We were both a bit of Midwestern fringe - not quite fitting in, not quite outcasts. Of course, our families thought we were perfect for each other - there are so few Catholics in my small, Midwestern town - my mother was absolutely thrilled. The night of our graduation, Trey had ended it, with an absolute pronouncement. "We're both going to college," he said, "And we don't need to pretend we're going to hold on to this." Perhaps for the first time in my life, I was truly, truly heartbroken. I was the one who broke relationships - I was the one who decided when it was over. Not this time. The day after graduation, I stayed in bed all day, claiming sickness and crying myself into infrequent naps. Of course, we had both gone to college - I had dated, danced, drank, fucked - but I'd not quite forgotten Trey. And here he was, smiling at me, a mop in his hand.

I heard Betty's croaking voice - "Umm, let's see - Trey and Kristen - since you're the young ones - maybe you can share the floor mopping, hmm?" The "hmmm" was a verbal tic Betty had never quite gotten over. "Yes," I heard Trey say, "We can do that - here's one mop - do we have another? And floor cleaner?" Betty looked over the collected cleaning supplies. Somehow, Mom had gotten swept away with the dust and the chatter and was now cheerfully polishing pews. I could hear her laugh and her distinctive gossip tones. Betty clicked her tongue, and said, "You know, Trey - I think there's another mop in the cleaning closet downstairs - and I'm sure that's where the Soilax is, too - do you want to go get it? Let me know if it's not down there." "Sure," Trey said, "We can do that - c'mon, Kristen." Numb, I followed Trey down the steps to the basement, site of my early religious training - my mind jammed with thoughts of Sunday school and saintly filmstrips.

"So," Trey said, "How's school?" I shook my head a little and smiled, "It's going well - actually, very well.

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