The walk home was very pleasant. Mrs. Reynolds and I talked about nothing in particular for a while, and then just walked along in silence. I thought about what Mrs. Reynolds was doing to me, and how I felt about it. I thought about how oddly she behaved for someone who was doing something so cruel. She had only seemed mean for the first day or so. After that, she'd seemed positively friendly, even kind. At first, the business with me playing with her breasts had made a kind of warped sense if she was really trying to be vindictive. But it was pretty obvious that she enjoyed it very much, and I had to admit that, as warped as it seemed, I had been enjoying it too. Now she was acting all mysterious, but she seemed happy — even relieved about something. Here she was; walking me home like we were best buddies and I was happy to be with her. 'Weird' doesn't begin to describe our relationship at that point.
When we got to my house, my mother was waiting at the door, as usual. She was very surprised to see Mrs. Reynolds.
"Hello, Yvette," Mrs. Reynolds said.
"Hi, Bambi," Mom answered.
"'Bambi?'" I thought. I looked at Mrs. Reynolds. The look I got back told me all I needed to know about even considering calling her 'Bambi'.
We all went inside and Mom showed Mrs. Reynolds into the living room. I had started to flop on the couch when Mrs. Reynolds said, "Samantha!" in a clipped tone of voice. My training kicked in and I was on my feet at attention with my shoulders back and my hands behind me in under a second.
"Yes, ma'am." I answered in my polite, compliant voice.
Mrs. Reynolds smiled at me and said, "I'd like to talk to your mother privately. Please run along to your room. And don't forget what I told you."
"Yes, ma'am." I responded. I grabbed my bookbag and moved out smartly. The last thing I saw as I left the room was my mother looking at me like I was some kind of imposter.
I was on the way down the hall to my room when I heard my mother say, "You certainly seem to be having a good influence on her. I've never seen her so... attentive." I shut the door loudly enough for it to be heard in the living room but not loudly enough to be mistaken for a slam. I leaned on the door and tried not to think about what Mrs. Reynolds and my mother would have to say to each other. I did not succeed very well. I really had no idea what Mrs. Reynolds wanted to discuss with my mother, but I was pretty sure I wasn't going to like whatever it was.
I took off my sweater and blouse and started looking though my closet for blouses that I could wear over my new bra. I was disappointed to find that most of my clothes were too small now. I found one pullover that did not look too tight, but that was about it. Some of my clothes had fit really well, too. I knew Mom would not be happy about having to buy me a lot of new clothes. Her job at the plant did not pay anything like what Dad used to make.
As soon as I thought of Dad, I got sad and sat down on the bed to mope. This was all old and well-trodden ground though, and I was able to get past it without breaking into tears.
I was trying to get my mind somewhere else, when out of nowhere I realized that I had no idea how my mother knew Mrs. Reynolds. They were obviously on a first-name basis and Mom had been willing to send me over there in the first place, even if she did have a fit of paranoia after the fact, so I had to assume that they knew each other fairly well. Even though we lived within walking distance from each other, they never visited and I had never heard of Mrs. Reynolds before the last couple of weeks. They must have met long ago, then. They had probably been friends before either of them got married. Even though she did not look it, I knew Mrs. Reynolds could only have been a year or two younger than Mom. I did the math and came up with an interesting number. Mom was 38. If Mrs. Reynolds was 37 and had a 19-year-old son, even allowing for her being pregnant at the altar, she must have married in, or right after High School. This meant they could have been friends in school, probably at the same age I was now. I did not see how I could follow-up on that without knowing her maiden name and I didn't remember if any of the articles in the society section of the paper had mentioned it.
I tried to approach it from another direction. Mr. Reynolds had been in his late 40's when he died. He must have been around 30 when he married her. Old enough to be established in business or at least on his way up the ladder. I thought Mrs. Reynolds must miss her husband terribly. She had several pictures of the two of them in the hall of her house. I looked at them whenever I passed and I remembered thinking that he looked a lot older than she was in them. I remembered some were formal photographs like you have taken in a studio. Some were taken at parties, and some were vacation shots, taken of them on the beach. I recalled one of them with Mrs. Reynolds in a really skimpy bikini, her impressive bust practically hanging out of her top. They both looked so happy in that one and Mr. Reynolds had looked young as well. I thought that might have been taken on their honeymoon. There was another photo near it that was of them at their wedding. There was something about that one that rang a bell, but I could not put my finger on it.