Cutting Scenes - The Fine Line

We each had one of Steffy’s hands and every now and again,
would swing her into the air. She loved it; whenever we did it,
she squealed with delight. We continued until we got to Annie’s
place, then I hoisted Steffy onto my shoulders. She had a great
time slapping my head with her little hands. She was happy. I
was happy. Annie was happy. It felt good to spend time around
her. She was kind and mature—a real woman, not a selfish child,
like Jane.
________
One Sunday night, I woke up at 3 a.m., restless, hungry for
something, but not food. I tried reading, but couldn’t
concentrate. I paced around the room for 15 minutes, then threw
on a bathrobe and went outside for some air. I sat by the pool
for a while, enjoying the warm breeze on my bare skin. I walked
down the path towards Annie’s place. One dim light was on
inside. I roamed around the backyard for a while, then knocked
softly on her window.
“Come in,” she said. “The door’s open.”
I slipped inside without saying a word. Annie was in bed,
the sheet pulled up to her neck. Except for the soft glow from a
nightlight in the bathroom, the room was in shadows. It was so
quiet; I could hear my heart beating. Annie watched me stand
against the wall for a few minutes, then pulled back the sheet,
inviting me into her bed. I hesitated, wondering what in the
world I was doing there in the middle of the night with our 63-
year-old nanny, and yet, I was drawn to her.
I climbed in beside her and she took my hand. Her touch was
firm and reassuring. After a few minutes, I let go and sat on
the edge of the bed. She got on her knees and rubbed my
shoulders. She worked her way up and down my back. Then she
started in on my chest. She rubbed my pecs, and I felt them
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