Chapter 17: CannibalIt happened, just as I presumed it would happen during that heated, untamable summer, humidity at its highest, July reeking of unkind heat. Tacoma moved about the estate as if he were born there, as if the lake house was a part of his soul or birthright, as if he owned the property.
I didn’t mind. Should I have? I wasn’t sure. I can say here and now, years later, as an older man, a wiser man, that I enjoyed his thoughts of ownership and gall, his presumptuousness. I did. I honestly did.
* * * *
We became animals of habit; I never expected it, but it did happen.
He bathed early in the mornings, washing his hands and hair and back, and that prominence between his legs. He ate breakfast with me at approximately eight-ten every morning. Then he went off to the pool for
