The story so far:
Maybel walked over to Dale and took his hand. It was clammy and Dale acted as though he might take it back from her. She knew what he was thinking. She knew he was convinced that she and his father were involved in some kind of incestuous affair.
That was partially true. But he needed to know more of it. He needed to see.
Maybel led Dale to the back of the house and into the kitchen. Jim was no longer screaming. He would begin screaming again when the night fully fell. It was the way of it. It was why the Shaking usually became almost unbearably pleasurable right after sunset. The first few times she'd done it she'd wept over the sensation. She'd writhed on the loamy soil that surrounded the well's mouth. More than once Jim had taken her into his arms and they'd both squirmed and writhed to the near agony of the pleasure as the screams drifted out of the well.
In the kitchen, Maybel took Dale over to the small kitchen table and gestured for him to sit. She opened the fridge and pulled the pitcher of lemonade from inside. The pitcher was an old porcelain one with chips here and there in the finish. It was a bone color with traditional flowers painted around it. Her mother had served the same lemonade from it. She'd served so much from it herself that she'd begun thinking of it as her own years and years ago.
She pulled a squat empty glass jar from the cabinet and placed it on the counter. Gooseflesh prickled over her arms as she poured the drink. She put everything back into the fridge and handed it to Dale. His hands were quivering, slightly, and his face looked fearful. He wasn't afraid of her, she could tell, but rather of what she was about to tell him. Maybel took a seat opposite of him and looked across the table. Dale was the spitting image of Jim years and years ago.
"Dale, Uncle Jim has always had a special relationship with me. I know you know that. Since Momma died he's been there for me. But what you're thinking just isn't true. And I think you know that." Dale took a hard draught of the lemonade and sighed. Her mother’s screams had lasted longer than nearly any other they’d ever sent to the bottom of the well.
"Then why has he spent nights here when he said he was gone?" Maybel looked at Dale and a peculiar thought bubbled to the surface of her mind.
"Do you think I'm pretty Dale?" Dale's eyes squinted and he looked away from her.
"No, you're my cousin. I mean, yeah, you're pretty but you're kin." He adjusted the way he was sitting and shook his head.
"Finish your drink, Dale. I need to show you something outside." Dale downed the last of the lemonade and Maybel stood to her feet. The light was fading fast and if she was going to do what she wanted to do, she was going to have to act quickly. Maybe walked to the door she'd entered only minutes ago and stood at the threshold. She turned and cast a smoldering look behind her at Dale. He looked a little sleepy but he was still quite lucid.
The lemonade was beginning to take its toll.
Maybel stepped down the wooden stairs. As she did she loosed the buttons of her blouse and let it fall from her shoulders. A simple practiced motion freed her from her bra. She dropped both to the ground and turned around to Dale. He looked lethargic but there was something else there too. He was going to play into what might be the greatest Shaking she'd ever experienced.