A Family After All. Kathy Altman

it, too. The constant heavy rumble of a waterfall. His pulse kicked into an awkward sprint.

      “Show me,” she said.

      He didn’t have to use the flashlight. Not yet. He guided her along a path that led to the stream feeding the falls. The rich smell of damp earth rose up around them, and the rumbling grew into a thunderous rush as the woods opened up. He captured her hand, and together they stepped out onto a bluff that rose a good thirty feet above Lake Erie.

      “I’d come to this spot whenever I could,” he murmured. “The foaming fury of the waterfall next to the calmness of the lake—it fascinated me. Called to me, too.” He looked over at her, admiring her pale features, flushed peach by the disappearing sun. “More than once I came close to jumping.”

      Her whole body shook—briefly, violently. She released his hand and swiped at the shocked tears that sprang into her eyes.

      “All I wanted was to feel normal,” he said, pushing the words over the hot swell of emotion in his throat. “You can’t feel normal when everyone looks at you like you’re a freak.”

      “You’re not a freak. Your stepfather? The other men who molested you? They’re the freaks.” She swiped again at her cheeks, wiped her palms on her jeans and took a deep breath. “And anyway, if it’s normal you want to feel, I can help with that.”

      A split second later, she was on him, her hands sliding around to the back of his neck, her breasts getting cozy with his chest.