She glared at me from her position on the wooden flooring.“But, mum--” I started.“I said go,” my mother said through clenched teeth. “We did...it. I let you. It’s over.”She yelled at me when I tried to object. My mother stood up, underwear balled in her fist, magnificent in her nudity and anger as she pointed along the corridor towards the back of the house.“No! Don’t try to talk to me!” my mother cried. “I’m appalled. I’m ashamed. I shouldn’t have done it. It was wrong and filthy. I’m your. It was still early in the day, no problem. We had time to tour the greenhouses before lunch. The Bresdons were congenial hosts, serving a simple but nourishing fare, sparing us from left over turkey and pumpkin pie. They were in their thirties, just getting their start in the nursery business and anxious please. After lunch, Wendy presented a freshly printed contract for our review. Not having had the opportunity to see it, I was furious. Glaring at her, I attempted to convey my discontent with. More

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