But I tried to treat the situation as totally temporary, the height of denial. I was going to have to leave behind my girls, my loves, do it with my virginity intact.Linda was distraught about the idea of me going to war. Siza was very unhappy but in her own way she knew how to do denial just as well as I. She refused to let herself accept my leaving as anything but ordinary. It was like I was just going to be gone for a month or so.My grief was just piling up. There would no more fun, or skinny dipping, or Siza pulling me around by my penis. There was no more.It was decided as well my sister was leaving the island to return to our home in the Pacific Northwest. She said she felt lonely. Apparently my paradise was not hers and she loaded up the kids to fly back to the mainland.My brother in law would also have to leave, selling their home and leaving his career, a really great job. He and I spent time detailing his car, getting it ready to sell. He didn’t seem as distressed as I was. He might have been thirty or so, perhaps thirty-five, and he looked like he understood the world. He also looked married.The youngest, and by far the prettiest, was a younger son of the local minister, cow-eyed and hopeful; he nearly drooled over Julie and made apologies for his dark suit, tattered linen and scuffed shoes. He was completely loyal to King George he assured us all.The third man was a farmer, the oldest son of a local landowner with a Dutch sort of name who appeared to be in his mid-twenties and said he had served in the loyal militia for the first year of the conflict before his father fell ill and called him home. I must admit that I liked him almost at once. His grip was firm and his eyes trusting.While Julie and I poured wine and apple jack into them, I sent them off, one at a time of course, to visit the brothel I had created with instructions to do their very best. When each man returned, adjusting his clothes and a bit red in the face, I sent out another until.
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