Sleeping Beauty by Judith Michael Page A

looks like she was mad or disappointed or whatever and wanted revenge.”
    Vince put his arm around Rita. Without looking at him, she shrugged it off.
    Charles had walked around the table to stand behind Anne. “I don’t want to hear it from Rita. I want to hear what Vince has to say.”
    â€œGod damn it,” Vince snapped. “There isn’t a fucking thing to say!”
    â€œVince!” Marian cried with a look at Gail, who sat with her face buried against Nina’s shoulder, and at the other children, who were looking wide-eyed from one speaker to another.
    â€œNina, take the children to the playroom,” said Ethan. “Why didn’t anyone think of that?”
    Nina hesitated, reluctant to leave. But Ethan motioned toward the door with a sharp jerk of his head, and she went, holding Rose in her arms, herding Gail and Dora and Keith before her.
    â€œI can’t believe it,” William muttered, over and over, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it.” He struck the table with his fist, rhythmically. “In our house . . . we’re not the kind of people . . . I can’t believe it . . . can’t . . .”
    â€œNothing happened!” Vince exploded. He looked acrossthe table, at Charles, standing behind Anne. His eyes never moved down to Anne; it was as if he and Charles were alone. “Charles.” His voice was soft and sweet. “Charles, you know me; no one else knows me as well as you do. You know I couldn’t do anything like that. There’s no way I could touch her. It would never occur to me! For God’s sake, Charles, she’s your daughter! And you’re the dearest person in the world to me. Where would I be without you? You’ve helped me grow up, you’ve always been there when I needed you, you’re my best friend. Do you really think I’d do anything to your daughter? My God, Charles, she’s as sacred to me as you are!”
    Charles looked down at the bent head of his daughter. “Anne, did you hear that?”
    She sat without moving.
    â€œCharles,” Marian said. She stood, clasping and unclasping her hands, her mouth trembling. “I think we should wait. This is too hard for all of us. If we waited—”
    â€œFor what?” Charles demanded. He knelt beside Anne’s chair. “Look at me, Anne. Now think carefully. This isn’t a game. You’ve made a dreadful accusation that could do great harm to your uncle. Did you make it up? Or dream it? Be careful what you say, Anne, your uncle’s future is at stake.”
    Anne felt herself shriveling up inside. Her father’s face wavered through her tears. He was not smiling at her. He looked stern. She turned to Ethan. “Please,” she whispered.
    Ethan looked at her intently. “Tell us what happened, my dear.”
    There was another silence. “I can’t,” she whispered. She turned to Marian, who stood agitatedly at the end of the table.
    â€œTell us, dear,” Marian said. “We’ll listen to you. Tell us anything you want.”
    Anne stared at her. She was choking with her shame. No words would come. She shook her head.
    â€œWell, then,” Vince said smoothly. He walked around the table. Anne cringed as he came close. “I’m sorry you had togo through this, Charles. If I can help in any way . . . though I think I’d better be careful to stay away from Anne. I might touch her, you know, out of affection, and then everyone would think . . . Oh, Christ, Charles”—tears filled his eyes—“how could this happen to us?”
    Anne glanced at her father as his eyes met Vince’s tearful ones, and she saw what she had always seen there: admiration, a kind of helpless envy, and love for his favorite brother, his favorite person in all the world.
    â€œNothing happened to us,” Charles said to Vince. He