A middle-age guy, looking a bit worse for the wear, stood in the doorway looking at me."Whatya want?" he said, in a not unfriendly tone."Are you Mr. P...mby?" I asked, politely."Yeah," who wants to know?" he said."My name is Dag. I'm a TV reporter for the local Television Station." Oh, yeah... ," he grumbled, "that Program Manager of yours called and said you'd be dropping by," he laughed. "You're supposed to interview me, right?" Yeah... right," I confirmed, not exuding a whole lot of. Linda drove on until the town was far behind them.Taking a chance that the time was right, she broke her silence to softly ask her son, "Marty, honey, do you want to tell me about it? About you and Sally?"The tension took its toll on Marty. He broke down, holding his head in his hands and whining like a little boy who'd just scraped his knee."If only she was anybody else then it wouldn't be so bad," he said, more to himself than anything. "But, God, she's my own cousin. Family. Why won't Sally. More

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