Details, disclaimers and Part One here Part Two here Part Three here Part Four here Part Five here Part Six here Part Seven here Dowload the mp3 podcast for this chapter by clicking (right click to save) here Please note that the podcast contains the F word a couple of times.
Please email me if you would like a version without :)
Monday, August 27th 2007 - Mitchell Homestead, Auburn, Kansas
Oh Jack, I’ve had such a lovely day!
Just after breakfast this morning there was a knock on the Mitchell’s screen door - it was David Pryce bearing flowers and a six pack of Evian, ha-ha.
I invited him in (I didn’t think that Frank and Wendy would object) and we chatted for a while. I explained about their absence and then we got onto the subject of Cam. He knows that Cam is USAF but doesn’t know where he is stationed, so it was easy to bluff my way through what he did and how I know him.
Then we got onto the subject of - my husband. The third finger of my left hand was being checked out. I’m getting that a lot now. I haven’t yet lied, but I’ve certainly misled by omission.
Not this time.
“There’s no husband.”
“Oh.”
I went no further.
Then I got asked out for the day, on a sightseeing trip to Topeka.
Perhaps I should have said no thanks, but I said yes. I hope that you can understand why.
He showed me all around the state capital with the finesse of a seasoned tour guide. We had lunch in a little bistro near the City Hall where I told him about you, at least as far as Section 11-C9 of the National Security Act will allow.
He listened in silence.
I felt quite safe - I mean he can’t be 'interested' in me. I also felt guilty at one point, sitting in the sunshine racking up a little pleasure but it was just a trip with a new friend. And I’m glad I did go - I had such a fun time...
.. and I enjoyed Dave’s company.
Charming, attentive, polite.
But not you.
xxxxxx
August 28th 2007 - Mitchell Homestead, Auburn, Kansas
I spent the day with Dave again.
He called round and we spent the morning talking, reading and sipping iced tea sitting on Wendy’s swinging seat on the porch out back.
The erstwhile hillbilly is apparently a lawyer in Washington and has come back to the family homestead to instruct the realtors concerning the sale of his parent’s old home (his Dad has been dead for 20 years, his mom last year). The truck he is driving was his Dad’s! He was having a problem with the generator so I offered to take a shot at it - you should have seen his face when I asked, ha-ha!
I spent two deliciously oily hours with one of my old towels strapped to the bump stripping back the engine while we chatted. He’s divorced, no kids and judging by the way he was talking, it all happened a long time ago. He asked more questions about you and I hope I made it clear that although you weren’t here, I would be carrying on as if you were.
His company is welcome, he seems so charming... he reminds me of someone though, I can’t think who right now.
When we were packing away his tools, I had to straighten up because the baby was kicking me hard. I guess I rubbed my stomach - I really don’t know why I do that, I don’t think junior can feel it but it seems somehow - instinctive. Dave asked me if he could feel the kicking, and I let him. Well, random strangers walk up to me in Wal-Mart and seem to think that my belly is fair game so why not a nice guy? He thought it was fantastic; so enthusiastic... perhaps it’s Daniel that he reminds me of.
When Dave left, I felt... lonely. This was compounded by Wendy calling to say that they won’t be home until late tomorrow afternoon - and I’m leaving the day after that. I’m so sorry that I didn’t get more time with them.
I tidied up, fixed a snack, and did some laundry. I gotta say that the lack of clothing is beginning to annoy me. Oh! What shall I wear today - I can *that* one or *that* one! I did buy some clothes with the thought that I may wear them after the baby is born, but I think they’ll be going straight in the trash because I am so sick of them!!
S
xxx
August 29th 2007 - Mitchell Homestead, Auburn, Kansas 0925
Well, it’s the start of another beautiful day - although the temperature is hitting the late ‘70s, there’s a fall smell in the air. Wendy has just called to say that they are on their way and I am so looking forward to their return!
I think I might fix them my Soufflé a la Carter for dinner.
S
X
August 29th 2007 - Mitchell Homestead, Auburn, Kansas
I have no idea what the time is, but it’s late.
Something happened today.
I don’t know how to tell you this.
I’ve betrayed you in the worst way.
I can’t bear it.
August 30th 2007 - Mitchell Homestead, Auburn, Kansas 0217
Yeah, it’s a quarter after two in the morning.
I can’t sleep; bad conscience I guess you’d call it.
I had a compulsion to write this down, but who the hell is going to read it besides me? What the hell am I doing? Am I writing to a dead man?
0235
I don’t know why I’m keeping up this damn diary. Daniel said that when you came home, you would want to know how I was feeling and how the baby was doing at each stage. I’ve just read over some past entries and I’ve noticed that on quite a few, I don’t even mention the kid - it’s all about me. I can’t believe how wrong that is!
Daniel was mistaken - he should have never suggested this.
Especially after yesterday.
0313
Well, it seems Mr. Pryce is not just a lawyer in Washington, he’s one of *THE* lawyers in Washington. High profile corporate cases, a buddy of Bill Gates, ENRON, Exxon Oil, you name one of the biggies in the past few years; he’s probably had a hand in it.
That wasn’t the only thing he misled me about.
HOW could I have been so stupid as to not notice the signs?!
I am so sure that I did not send him the wrong signals, I’m positive of it.
But that doesn’t stop me hating myself. I hate myself, Jack; I’m disloyal and weak.
You will never, ever deserve that.
0324
Screw it.
I will get this down, but then that’s it; I am not reading it through again.
Shortly after 10 o’clock yesterday morning, I heard Dave’s - I’m not sure what to call him now, actually, *him* I guess - *his* pick-up pull into the yard. I thought he must be having another problem with it, but no, it was just a social call. *Another* social call. I didn’t think any more of it at first. I had no idea that getting knocked up would destroy a few billion brain cells.
Hi Dave! C’mon in Dave! Have a cup of coffee, Dave!
We talked while I busied about in the kitchen, yadda, yadda, everything is fine. Or so I thought.
Then he excuses himself; I assume he’s gone to the bathroom. I didn’t hear him come back, but then I got that feeling when you *know* you are being watched.
I turned around.
It was such an odd scene. The picture of domestic bliss; the chintz-bedecked windows are flung open to the air, the sun is streaming in, the birds are singing, and I’m up to my elbows in flour and baby.
And he’s looking at me.
In that way.
In THAT way.
I think I must be mistaken.
I kinda half-smile and babble comes from out of my mouth. I get the feeling he doesn’t want another macaroon when he walks towards me not taking his eyes off my face. I suddenly remember who he reminds me of - Joseph Faxon.
Yes, that’s it, Joe Faxon.
I’m not afraid, not like the first day when he hauled me out of that ditch.
But I am nervous. I can feel my heart thumping in my chest.
He walks over and I find I can’t move. I can’t talk either then.
When he touches my face I let him. His hands are smooth; the hands of lawyer, not of a soldier. When he leans closer, he smells of Aramis and when I close my eyes, I could imagine you. You know how much I love that scent.
I think he’s touching my lips when I realize that I’m being kissed, softly, tenderly.
But he’s not you.
When he pulls back, I manage to open my eyes and speak. “David-“
He breathes into my ear, “My Sunday name.”
“David, I’m *pregnant*.” I cannot imagine for five nano-seconds that he is genuinely attracted to me.
He smiles. He’s not exactly undesirable and my heart rate hitches up a notch. “I kinda noticed.” He rubs his gently curled knuckles against my stomach.
“-with another man’s child.” My trump card.
It doesn’t deter him. He spreads his fingers out across the baby and strokes a little more firmly and his other hand is cupping my chin, the thumb caressing my cheek.
Something uncurls from deep within me. A heat, a tightening, a *longing*.
He’s not you.
But if I close my eyes again...
I.
Can.
Pretend.
His lips are on mine once more, his tongue licking and needy. When I open my mouth to respond, I know what I’m doing, *exactly* what I’m doing. One of his hands has somehow found its way under my blouse and just the feeling of a tender breast being massaged is powerfully arousing.
My temperature is soaring and I can’t stand it any more. I kiss him back harder and when his cool hand moves from my chest and trails down the naked, stretched skin that is so sensitive, I moan in appreciation.
When the kiss breaks, he whispers my name, ~ Samantha ~ caressing the back of my neck. As his hand reaches the crotch of my maternity pants, I shift my legs so that they are apart and I’m willing and wanting him to do it. The hand that’s on my neck moves down my back to draw me closer and I can feel his burgeoning erection. He tugs at the drawstring of my pants and presses firmly between my legs. I want to be stretched and filled and urged on to be completely carnal.
I want to be fucked. And fucked hard
OH GOD.
I want it so badly. And I still haven’t opened my eyes.
His tongue sweeps around my mouth and I suddenly experience the desire for oral sex, right here, right now. It was almost overwhelming.
Almost.
The skin of my stomach tightened then, an intense spasm that made me break the kiss and my eyes snapped open.
One word.
“No.”
My hands flattened against his chest and pushed him slowly away.
I repeated. “No. It’s wrong. No.”
David dropped his hands as if he had been stung.
I don’t know how long we looked at each other, but when he turned to leave, my heart was still pounding and my face was still burning. My nipples were fully erect, pushing uncomfortably against the lace of my new maternity brassiere. My hands found their way to the baby, cradling the form, soothing away the tremor.
The only thing I could hear was my own breathing, loud and uneven.
I was startled when Dave re-appeared in the kitchen doorway, carrying his jacket. I was about to speak, to say what, I haven’t a clue, when he raised his hand. “I’m going and I won’t come back.”
I nodded.
He turned to leave again, but then hesitated, fingering the door jamb as if it would provide the answers to all the world’s ills. “Jack is dead, Sam. If the Taliban or any of those fanatics had captured a high ranking Air Force general alive, they would have been screaming for a ransom and parading him on TV long before now. You’re being loyal to a memory. And for what my opinion is worth to you, your child is going to need more than a memory to attend their elementary school play or cheer from the bleachers at Little League.”
He paused, his gaze intense. “And so will you.” A parting shot across the bows.
He was gone.
I heard the screen door slam and his truck roar to life and the only thing left of him was the swirling vortex of dust generated from his retreating vehicle and the taste of bile in my throat.
***
Much later, after the Mitchell’s return and a jolly meal, complete with a perfect Soufflé au Fromage, butternut squash risotto and my phony jocundity, I excused myself and sought refuge in the yard under the stars, guiltily reveling in the perfume of the night scented stock.
For some reason, I could not get a 10th grade English Lit. class out of my head. If a raging Puritan minister had appeared from the gloom behind the barn, screaming hell and damnation, insisting upon that scarlet letter, I would have freely affixed the ‘A’ upon my chest and hung my head in shame and let the tears fall in self-disgust.
In the purple-crimson rays of the fading day, my heart ached for you.
But I am so afraid that you are dead.
Wendy came out with hot chocolate and Kleenex. I couldn’t tell her why I was crying but obviously she knew something was wrong. She held me as my mother used to and it just hurt all the more.
When the tears were spent, she led me back to the guest room, took off my sneakers, and covered me with one of her pretty quilts. She smoothed back my hair and stroked my hand and switched off the light on her way down to her husband.
I lay in the dark.
Sleep? Perchance to dream?
I don’t think so.
And here I am.
And now I’ve told you.
But I’ve done it and I can’t undo it.
All this needs to stop being about me and start being about our child.
I need to move on despite it all.
I need to paint the nursery, I need to go buy a stroller, I need to make a future.
Samantha Carter. Betrayer. Whore. Coward.
August 30th 2007 - Mitchell Homestead, Auburn, Kansas 1112
I’m trying to decide if this diary, for want of a better name, is worth the effort. Sitting up half the night unburdening myself onto a hard drive is all very cathartic, but it doesn’t aid insomnia.
Anyway. The highlights:
I’m not going back to Nevada; the air transport from Sherman is taking me to Edwards AFB and Landry has arranged a staff car (SG1 are off-world) directly to my home in ‘Springs and that is where I’m living until I have the baby. I’ll make the long term decisions then, based on what is best for the child. Right now, my health and thus the baby’s health are not compatible to the peripatetic lifestyle that I seem to be adopting. I called Kerry Kerrigan and explained that I wouldn’t be returning to Nevada and why, which he was fine about. He offered to have my personal equipment and meager belongings forwarded to me at Cheyenne, for which I thanked him profusely. Normally I would have returned to my post and conducted a thorough handover, but I simply can’t make yet another long-haul journey. I’ll be working at the CMC, and the details of the role will be thrashed out between me, Hank and personnel when I get back.
Landry did bring up the subject of part-time work again. All the Washington Post articles I’ve ever read concerning the failure of working mothers to perpetuate successful careers once kids appear did inundate my sensibilities, but screw it, I said I’d think it over.
I have to go now. I want to say a proper good bye to Frank and Wendy Mitchell for their hospitality and the loan of their lovely home for the past week. They are such sweet people and I feel ashamed every time I think about what happened in their kitchen. Cameron is very lucky.
Carter
Part 8 - Without swearing or blasphemy:
Monday, August 27th 2007 - Mitchell Homestead, Auburn, Kansas
Oh Jack, I’ve had such a lovely day!
Just after breakfast this morning there was a knock on the Mitchell’s screen door - it was David Pryce bearing flowers and a six pack of Evian, ha-ha.
I invited him in (I didn’t think that Frank and Wendy would object) and we chatted for a while. I explained about their absence and then we got onto the subject of Cam. He knows that Cam is USAF but doesn’t know where he is stationed, so it was easy to bluff my way through what he did and how I know him.
Then we got onto the subject of - my husband. The third finger of my left hand was being checked out. I’m getting that a lot now. I haven’t yet lied, but I’ve certainly misled by omission.
Not this time.
“There’s no husband.”
“Oh.”
I went no further.
Then I got asked out for the day, on a sightseeing trip to Topeka.
Perhaps I should have said no thanks, but I said yes. I hope that you can understand why.
He showed me all around the state capital with the finesse of a seasoned tour guide. We had lunch in a little bistro near the City Hall where I told him about you, at least as far as Section 11-C9 of the National Security Act will allow.
He listened in silence.
I felt quite safe - I mean he can’t be 'interested' in me. I also felt guilty at one point, sitting in the sunshine racking up a little pleasure but it was just a trip with a new friend. And I’m glad I did go - I had such a fun time...
.. and I enjoyed Dave’s company.
Charming, attentive, polite.
But not you.
xxxxxx
August 28th 2007 - Mitchell Homestead, Auburn, Kansas
I spent the day with Dave again.
He called round and we spent the morning talking, reading and sipping iced tea sitting on Wendy’s swinging seat on the porch out back.
The erstwhile hillbilly is apparently a lawyer in Washington and has come back to the family homestead to instruct the realtors concerning the sale of his parent’s old home (his Dad has been dead for 20 years, his mom last year). The truck he is driving was his Dad’s! He was having a problem with the generator so I offered to take a shot at it - you should have seen his face when I asked, ha-ha!
I spent two deliciously oily hours with one of my old towels strapped to the bump stripping back the engine while we chatted. He’s divorced, no kids and judging by the way he was talking, it all happened a long time ago. He asked more questions about you and I hope I made it clear that although you weren’t here, I would be carrying on as if you were.
His company is welcome, he seems so charming... he reminds me of someone though, I can’t think who right now.
When we were packing away his tools, I had to straighten up because the baby was kicking me hard. I guess I rubbed my stomach - I really don’t know why I do that, I don’t think junior can feel it but it seems somehow - instinctive. Dave asked me if he could feel the kicking, and I let him. Well, random strangers walk up to me in Wal-Mart and seem to think that my belly is fair game so why not a nice guy? He thought it was fantastic; so enthusiastic... perhaps it’s Daniel that he reminds me of.
When Dave left, I felt... lonely. This was compounded by Wendy calling to say that they won’t be home until late tomorrow afternoon - and I’m leaving the day after that. I’m so sorry that I didn’t get more time with them.
I tidied up, fixed a snack, and did some laundry. I gotta say that the lack of clothing is beginning to annoy me. Oh! What shall I wear today - I can *that* one or *that* one! I did buy some clothes with the thought that I may wear them after the baby is born, but I think they’ll be going straight in the trash because I am so sick of them!!
S
xxx
August 29th 2007 - Mitchell Homestead, Auburn, Kansas 0925
Well, it’s the start of another beautiful day - although the temperature is hitting the late ‘70s, there’s a fall smell in the air. Wendy has just called to say that they are on their way and I am so looking forward to their return!
I think I might fix them my Soufflé a la Carter for dinner.
S
X
August 29th 2007 - Mitchell Homestead, Auburn, Kansas
I have no idea what the time is, but it’s late.
Something happened today.
I don’t know how to tell you this.
I’ve betrayed you in the worst way.
I can’t bear it.
August 30th 2007 - Mitchell Homestead, Auburn, Kansas 0217
Yeah, it’s a quarter after two in the morning.
I can’t sleep; bad conscience I guess you’d call it.
I had a compulsion to write this down, but who the hell is going to read it besides me? What the hell am I doing? Am I writing to a dead man?
0235
I don’t know why I’m keeping up this damn diary. Daniel said that when you came home, you would want to know how I was feeling and how the baby was doing at each stage. I’ve just read over some past entries and I’ve noticed that on quite a few, I don’t even mention the kid - it’s all about me. I can’t believe how wrong that is!
Daniel was mistaken - he should have never suggested this.
Especially after yesterday.
0313
Well, it seems Mr. Pryce is not just a lawyer in Washington, he’s one of *THE* lawyers in Washington. High profile corporate cases, a buddy of Bill Gates, ENRON, Exxon Oil, you name one of the biggies in the past few years; he’s probably had a hand in it.
That wasn’t the only thing he misled me about.
HOW could I have been so stupid as to not notice the signs?!
I am so sure that I did not send him the wrong signals, I’m positive of it.
But that doesn’t stop me hating myself. I hate myself, Jack; I’m disloyal and weak.
You will never, ever deserve that.
0324
Screw it.
I will get this down, but then that’s it; I am not reading it through again.
Shortly after 10 o’clock yesterday morning, I heard Dave’s - I’m not sure what to call him now, actually, *him* I guess - *his* pick-up pull into the yard. I thought he must be having another problem with it, but no, it was just a social call. *Another* social call. I didn’t think any more of it at first. I had no idea that getting knocked up would destroy a few billion brain cells.
Hi Dave! C’mon in Dave! Have a cup of coffee, Dave!
We talked while I busied about in the kitchen, yadda, yadda, everything is fine. Or so I thought.
Then he excuses himself; I assume he’s gone to the bathroom. I didn’t hear him come back, but then I got that feeling when you *know* you are being watched.
I turned around.
It was such an odd scene. The picture of domestic bliss; the chintz-bedecked windows are flung open to the air, the sun is streaming in, the birds are singing, and I’m up to my elbows in flour and baby.
And he’s looking at me.
In that way.
In THAT way.
I think I must be mistaken.
I kinda half-smile and babble comes from out of my mouth. I get the feeling he doesn’t want another macaroon when he walks towards me not taking his eyes off my face. I suddenly remember who he reminds me of - Joseph Faxon.
Yes, that’s it, Joe Faxon.
I’m not afraid, not like the first day when he hauled me out of that ditch.
But I am nervous. I can feel my heart thumping in my chest.
He walks over and I find I can’t move. I can’t talk either then.
When he touches my face I let him. His hands are smooth; the hands of lawyer, not of a soldier. When he leans closer, he smells of Aramis and when I close my eyes, I could imagine you. You know how much I love that scent.
I think he’s touching my lips when I realize that I’m being kissed, softly, tenderly.
But he’s not you.
When he pulls back, I manage to open my eyes and speak. “David-“
He breathes into my ear, “My Sunday name.”
“David, I’m *pregnant*.” I cannot imagine for five nano-seconds that he is genuinely attracted to me.
He smiles. He’s not exactly undesirable and my heart rate hitches up a notch. “I kinda noticed.” He rubs his gently curled knuckles against my stomach.
“-with another man’s child.” My trump card.
It doesn’t deter him. He spreads his fingers out across the baby and strokes a little more firmly and his other hand is cupping my chin, the thumb caressing my cheek.
Something uncurls from deep within me. A heat, a tightening, a *longing*.
He’s not you.
But if I close my eyes again...
I.
Can.
Pretend.
His lips are on mine once more, his tongue licking and needy. When I open my mouth to respond, I know what I’m doing, *exactly* what I’m doing. One of his hands has somehow found its way under my blouse and just the feeling of a tender breast being massaged is powerfully arousing.
My temperature is soaring and I can’t stand it any more. I kiss him back harder and when his cool hand moves from my chest and trails down the naked, stretched skin that is so sensitive, I moan in appreciation.
When the kiss breaks, he whispers my name, ~ Samantha ~ caressing the back of my neck. As his hand reaches the crotch of my maternity pants, I shift my legs so that they are apart and I’m willing and wanting him to do it. The hand that’s on my neck moves down my back to draw me closer and I can feel his burgeoning erection. He tugs at the drawstring of my pants and presses firmly between my legs. I want to be stretched and filled and urged on to be completely carnal.
I want him.
I want *it* so badly. And I still haven’t opened my eyes.
His tongue sweeps around my mouth and I suddenly experience the desire for oral sex, right here, right now. It was almost overwhelming.
Almost.
The skin of my stomach tightened then, an intense spasm that made me break the kiss and my eyes snapped open.
One word.
“No.”
My hands flattened against his chest and pushed him slowly away.
I repeated. “No. It’s wrong. No.”
David dropped his hands as if he had been stung.
I don’t know how long we looked at each other, but when he turned to leave, my heart was still pounding and my face was still burning. My nipples were fully erect, pushing uncomfortably against the lace of my new maternity brassiere. My hands found their way to the baby, cradling the form, soothing away the tremor.
The only thing I could hear was my own breathing, loud and uneven.
I was startled when Dave re-appeared in the kitchen doorway, carrying his jacket. I was about to speak, to say what, I haven’t a clue, when he raised his hand. “I’m going and I won’t come back.”
I nodded.
He turned to leave again, but then hesitated, fingering the door jamb as if it would provide the answers to all the world’s ills. “Jack is dead, Sam. If the Taliban or any of those fanatics had captured a high ranking Air Force general alive, they would have been screaming for a ransom and parading him on TV long before now. You’re being loyal to a memory. And for what my opinion is worth to you, your child is going to need more than a memory to attend their elementary school play or cheer from the bleachers at Little League.”
He paused, his gaze intense. “And so will you.” A parting shot across the bows.
He was gone.
I heard the screen door slam and his truck roar to life and the only thing left of him was the swirling vortex of dust generated from his retreating vehicle and the taste of bile in my throat.
***
Much later, after the Mitchell’s return and a jolly meal, complete with a perfect Soufflé au Fromage, butternut squash risotto and my phony jocundity, I excused myself and sought refuge in the yard under the stars, guiltily reveling in the perfume of the night scented stock.
For some reason, I could not get a 10th grade English Lit. class out of my head. If a raging Puritan minister had appeared from the gloom behind the barn, screaming hell and damnation, insisting upon that scarlet letter, I would have freely affixed the ‘A’ upon my chest and hung my head in shame and let the tears fall in self-disgust.
In the purple-crimson rays of the fading day, my heart ached for you.
But I am so afraid that you are dead.
Wendy came out with hot chocolate and Kleenex. I couldn’t tell her why I was crying but obviously she knew something was wrong. She held me as my mother used to and it just hurt all the more.
When the tears were spent, she led me back to the guest room, took off my sneakers, and covered me with one of her pretty quilts. She smoothed back my hair and stroked my hand and switched off the light on her way down to her husband.
I lay in the dark.
Sleep? Perchance to dream?
I don’t think so.
And here I am.
And now I’ve told you.
But I’ve done it and I can’t undo it.
All this needs to stop being about me and start being about our child.
I need to move on despite it all.
I need to paint the nursery, I need to go buy a stroller, I need to make a future.
Samantha Carter. Betrayer. Whore. Coward.
August 30th 2007 - Mitchell Homestead, Auburn, Kansas 1112
I’m trying to decide if this diary, for want of a better name, is worth the effort. Sitting up half the night unburdening myself onto a hard drive is all very cathartic, but it doesn’t aid insomnia.
Anyway. The highlights:
I’m not going back to Nevada; the air transport from Sherman is taking me to Edwards AFB and Landry has arranged a staff car (SG1 are off-world) directly to my home in ‘Springs and that is where I’m living until I have the baby. I’ll make the long term decisions then, based on what is best for the child. Right now, my health and thus the baby’s health are not compatible to the peripatetic lifestyle that I seem to be adopting. I called Kerry Kerrigan and explained that I wouldn’t be returning to Nevada and why, which he was fine about. He offered to have my personal equipment and meager belongings forwarded to me at Cheyenne, for which I thanked him profusely. Normally I would have returned to my post and conducted a thorough handover, but I simply can’t make yet another long-haul journey. I’ll be working at the CMC, and the details of the role will be thrashed out between me, Hank and personnel when I get back.
Landry did bring up the subject of part-time work again. All the Washington Post articles I’ve ever read concerning the failure of working mothers to perpetuate successful careers once kids appear did inundate my sensibilities, but screw it, I said I’d think over.
I have to go now. I want to say a proper good bye to Frank and Wendy Mitchell for their hospitality and the loan of their lovely home for the past week. They are such sweet people and I feel ashamed every time I think about what happened in their kitchen. Cameron is very lucky.
Carter