I shrugged, and responded in my usually charitable fashion. "Redneck inbred hillbillies. Why?"

She arched a perfect eyebrow. "You might be right," she said slowly.

"Of course Iím right."

"No really," she said. "There is something very strange about the Draytonís."

"What exactly?" Now I was serious.

"Well to begin with, they are just strange. Mrs. Drayton hardly ever says a word, and when Mr. Drayton talks he just yells orders. The girls barely will talk to me, and Devon and Daniel stare at me the entire time over the dinner table."

I summed up what she had just related to me. "So the familyís dysfunctional and the boys think youíre hot."

"I donít want to sound paranoid, but I think it is worse than that."

"Fran is thirteen and she has a room, alone, next to mine. Last night I woke up and I heard grunting sounds from her room, and a voice that sounded like one of her brothers. I couldnít make out any words, but the grunts and groans made it sound likeÖ" She trailed off, but then found her voice. "When the noises stopped, I got up and went to my bedroom door. I opened it just a little and looked out and saw Devon leaving the room. He turned and I know he saw me, but he didnít say anything. He just walked back to his room. I heard Fran crying in her room, but I didnít know what to do."

For once I was struck speechless. Despite my range of experiences, I hadnít come into contact with any sort of molestation. I had always considered it as some sort of depraved joke-something that never really happened, rather than with the gravity that the horrific reality deserved. Sometimes, in order to keep our sanity we use humor to defuse the horrible truth.

"Youíve got to get out of there," I said. "and then maybe we can turn them into Child Protective Services."

"Yes. But I canít be sure. What if Iím just imagining the worst?"

I shook my head. "No. Youíve got to go with your instinct on this one. Iíve always thought there was something weird about them."

Christine frowned. "Iím going to have to call my parents and somehow explain to them about all this, so I can get a ticket to fly home to England. Thatís going to take days at the very minimum, and what do I tell the Draytonís?"

"Tell them theyíre freaking perverts, and you want out," I suggested with my usual subtlety.

She sighed and put a hand to her forehead, then nervously brushed back a stray wisp of hair. "This is not how I thought things were going to work out. I had planned on spending the entire school year studying here in the states."

"Any chance of lining up another sponsor?"

She frowned. "Itís far too late for that now. Everything is arranged at the minimum of six months in advance. From what I understand, the program barely had enough U.S. sponsors as it was. Iíd like to stay in the states, but I really donít think that it is going to be possible."

"Whatever you do, you need to get out of the Draytonís house. Why donít you come home with me tonight, and stay at my grandparentís house? You can sleep in my bed, and Iíll take the couch. You can make your calls from there in the morning."

In my past, maybe I would have used this as some sort of come-on, but I never would have been that subtle or deceptive- and I never would have invited the woman back to my grandparents. I would have invited a woman to sleep in my bedÖwith me.

Slowly, my perceptions of what I needed in a relationship were changing; and although my exposure to Christine had been brief- there was no way that I was going to jeopardize the potential of our relationship by attempting seduction and conquest. I had tried that, and ultimately, been unsatisfied. I wanted to build something real, and permanent.

As we left the restaurant our hands brushed and her fingers closed around mine. In that moment of connection I realized that I was about to lose, what I had just found. In one unselfish act, I was going to help her escape the horrible situation, which she was in, and return across a vast ocean to her homeland. Once she departed, it was unlikely that I would ever see her again.

My grandparents home was set back in the woods, up a rutted dirt drive that emerged between a barn and a modest one-story rambler. A roof overhung a railed front porch, yellow and red hummingbird feeders visible in the porch light, and swaying in a slight breeze.

I let Christine through the front door and into the cluttered interior. A lamp in the living room cast the only light. My grandparents had, evidently, retired for the evening. I brought Christine the rotary-style phone and let her make a call to the Draytonís.

"Are you sure this is going to be alright with your grandparents?," she whispered.

"My grandpa can seem a little grumpy at times, but he has a good heart. Once I explain the situation, they will be happy to help out."