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”“Then you can pee, too,” he chuckled. “Then we’ll both be awake and whatever shall we do to go back to sleep?” I giggled at him. Yeah. Three mugs. Pleasant little bit of buzz. Like I needed help. I collected the two empty mugs, deposited them in the kitchenette sink, then returned to Brad’s arms.As I nestled in, he nuzzled my cheek. “I guess reading’s not on the agenda.”“Unless you really want to,” I whispered.“Nahhhh, I’m going back over what I read already.”“So if we’re not reading, I’m NOT turning on the stupid TV.”“There must be something we can do to entertain ourselves,” he said.“I know,” I squeaked in a ‘little girl’ voice. “I could play with your pee-pee...”And play we did. I got him naked and he got me naked and we played like two ten-year-olds discovering the wonders of the opposite sex. Okay, I played ‘little girl’ a lot. I mean, there’s part of me that would’ve liked to have been adventurous to do this when we were kids, at least a little bit.I don’t understand why I’m. The tears were now uncontrolled but she was able to gasp out, "She was hanging on that cross, dying for me!"Ginny took a couple of deep breaths to try to regain control. Then she reached below the rostrum, pulled out a khaki uniform shirt and opened it out. "I found this in the back of one of my drawers today," she said. "It is the shirt Susan Jennings was wearing that day. You can even read the name inside the collar, neatly stenciled in indelible ink, JENNINGS. This morning I found something else I had never noticed before."Opening the shirt, she spread it over the front of the rostrum so the reporters could see more clearly and pointed out marks on the shirt that appeared to be rust stains. "These look like rust stains, don't they?" she asked. "They are not. It is Susan's blood. It dripped off her back onto me as I lay on the ground beneath her. Then it must have been soaked up by Susan's shirt when I put it on as she was being hung on the cross."Turning to Susan she said quietly,.
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