She looked at me in the mirror with a confused, terrified look onher face. “Mom! Mom! Mommy!” she shrieked. I pulled out a shiny butterfly knife a...dwhipped it around with my left hand. With my right hand I ran my fingers through herdamp blonde hair, slowly down her neck, gently caressed the front of her throat, andthen up to her chin. You be a good girl and everything will be alright. I looked herstraight in the eyes and asked her “are you going to be good?” Her eyes teared up asshe shook her. ”“Matt, “she squealed as she came around the corner. “you’ve finally got tired of your own cooking.” Grabbing me in a bear hug, she tightened up to where I could hear my ribs creak.Agnes was a good 6 inches shorter than me, but she had at least 50 lbs. On me. And strong, I’d once watched her punch a summer help tenderfoot who had bitched about her cooking one too many times. We had tried warning him to watch his step. But like most city boys, he knew better. After I reset the knotheads broken. More

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