Free Trust No One by Diana Layne Page A

to the fairy tale MJ read.
    “Once upon a time a king and queen wished for a child. Their wishes were answered when they had a beautiful baby girl. Just like you, ” MJ said, then there was sound of a kiss and a giggle.
    Ben dragged his attention away from the story and flipped the channel. O’Reilly was interviewing someone about the ability to rehabilitate sex offenders. Ben kept his attention focused on the interview, until the end of the fairytale, when MJ offered a critique of the story.
    “. . .and they were married and lived happily-ever-after. But you see, my darling daughter, there are some basic problems with this story. If Aurora’s dear daddy the king had just taught her about spinning wheels, and that they were dangerous to her, he wouldn’t have had to worry. Because you know, no matter if he thought he’d destroyed all the spinning wheels the bad fairy is going to make sure one is there for Aurora to find.
    “And then the poor girl falls asleep and has to depend on a man to rescue her. Whereas if she’d known better she could have missed the long nap and taken care of herself.”
    Ben sat up straighter, ears tuned to MJ, any attempts to listen to national news abandoned. Obviously, MJ had forgotten his presence, but just a few simple words summarized a life philosophy and sent him a clear, strong message. MJ did things her own way and didn’t depend on others. Only reiterating what he’d seen with his own eyes.
    “Bedtime, sweetie.” MJ headed toward the bedroom with the sleepy little girl, singing, “I love you, you love me…”
    The melody sounded familiar to Ben but he didn’t recognize the words. And now, he’d never have a need to know. A few minutes later he heard another kiss and a ‘Nite, darling, I love you,’ then MJ came back into the living room.
    “So bath, story, song, tuck into bed. You’re quite into the cozy family routine.”
    “I like it,” she said, walking past him and disappearing into the kitchen. “Where’d you put the pie?”
    “Fridge. Middle shelf, left side.” He heard her open the refrigerator door. “Because you didn’t have it? The family routine?”
    “I had it. Until I was nine. Want your pie?”
    “Definitely.” The sound of an opening drawer and the clank of dishes told him she was transferring the pie pieces out of the box to plates.
    “Tea? Or milk?”
    “Tea’s fine.” And bourbon would be better. “So you’re trying to recreate your childhood?”
    “Doesn’t everyone?” She came back into the living room, hands loaded with dessert plates balanced on top of the tea glasses.
    He took a glass and a plate, eyeing the chocolate pie with meringue piled high enough to rival his mom’s. “Depends upon the childhood, I suppose.”
    “Mine was worth recreating.”
    “And yet you’d teach Sleeping Beauty to empower herself?”
    “Only sensible thing to do these days.”
    He pushed her, curious how deep her wounds were. Were they as deep as his, or had she found some trick to healing he missed?
    “If Sleeping Beauty can take care of herself, then who would the Prince Phillip have to rescue?”
    MJ stopped mid-bite and gave him a look that said she was surprised—or impressed—he’d been paying attention enough to remember the hero’s name. She chewed and swallowed then answered. “Prince Phillip is fictional. In real life, there are no princes.”
    Wounds still pretty deep. “Maybe there are some men who would like to be a woman’s prince.”
    “Yeah, right, they’d like to be only as long as it takes to get into Sleeping Beauty’s pink panties.”
    The words barely left her mouth when she grimaced. She shoved another huge piece of pie into her mouth.
    “The story of your life?” He took a smaller, more manageable bite. Almost as good as mom’s too, he conceded.
    She pointed her fork at him, speaking around a mouthful of chocolate pie. “Can the shrink stuff. I don’t need analyzing.”
    “Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how