So, I managed to get away with my crime. Eventually, Mr. W related to Luanne and me all the details of what had occurred between him and his son.

When Scott came back into town on Monday morning, he was met at the store by his father, who told him about everything that had happened and then asked where Scott had been. Scott told him about camping in Pennsylvania, but discovered that the police had already spoken to his friends who'd told him that on Friday morning, Scott had left the campground to go into town and hadn't returned until Saturday morning. When Scott told him that he'd met a girl in a bar and took her to his motel room that night, Mr. W asked for the girl's name, but he didn't know it. The motel owner didn't remember a girl with Scott when he'd checked in at one that afternoon, but did re-member the nice rent-a-car pulling in at one in the morning. Scott denied being the one who'd dis-abled the alarms and opened the doors and he denied being the one to knock over the portable bathrooms. Mr. W didn't believe a word of it and calmly and coldly explained to Scott what he was going to do about it. First of all, he told him, he wasn't going to press charges on what had happened inside the store, since there wasn't enough physical evidence for a court to convict, yet he knew that Scott was guilty. As far as the incident with the outdoor bathrooms went, Mr. W informed Scott that the police did have some solid evidence and, since it had endangered the health and safety of inno-cent people, they were going to prosecute and were certain they'd gain a conviction.

Mr. W went on to tell his son that, since he wasn't filing a police report on the damages within the store, he would get no insurance settlement and he would have to replace the inventory somehow. "Somehow," it turned out, meant that it would come out of the trust fund Mr. W had set up for his son. He'd been saving money in his son's behalf for most of his career, and it now amounted to nearly a quarter-million dollars. Scott's eyes lit up at the thought, but quickly dimmed when Mr. W said that he'd ordered replacement inventory for the store at a cost of nearly one-hundred thousand dollars. (I was shocked when I realized I'd eaten my way through that kind of money!) He'd used another hundred thousand dollars to set up an endowment for the Guests, to ensure that they would never again be subject to the predations and disdain of some selfish bastard or an uncaring government. Another twenty-five thousand went to making some improvements to the Guests' camp -- permanent bathrooms, for one thing. He'd paid the balance of the loan on Scott's car with another nine thousand dollars and the remaining eight-thousand he gave to Scott in the form of a check, telling him that he had modified his will and disinherited Scott and that this money was all he was ever going to get. He told Scott that he'd had high hopes for him, and that af-ter Scott's mother had died, he'd made a double effort to be both parents. He told him that he'd given him the benefits of his wisdom and his experience, teaching him the importance of loving other people. But, somehow, Scott had learned to despise other people and the only thing he learned to love was money.

I don't know how Scott left the meeting with his father: whether screaming and cursing or in quiet resignation. But, I do know that the police were waiting for him when he got to his house, arresting him and charging him with everything from creating a health hazard to leaving the scene of an accident. His father performed one last fatherly duty, and sent Luther down to the station to bail him out. A week later, before the trial even made it to the calendar, Scott entered a plea and was sentenced to sixty days, a twenty-five thousand dollar fine, a thousand hours of community service and a year's probation.

The store cleanup went well and we re-opened on the same day Scott went to the county prison; I started working mornings again in the bakery with Luanne, but cut back my front end shifts so I could keep my waitressing job, which was a lot more lucrative. Between the pastry chef at the restaurant and Luanne in the bakery, I was getting a great education in baking, and, with the permission of the head of the restaurant school, I was allowed to switch my major and my school from Art History to Bakery.

Luanne and I haven't made love again. We decided that the one time was wonderful and fun, but more than that will demand that choices and decisions be made. We work together every day and I spend quite a number of evenings at their place. She's still eating constantly and gaining weight, telling me that she plans on presenting Jimmy with a three-hundred pound wife for Christ-mas! Jimmy, meanwhile has accepted a position with one of the best small architecture firms in Manhattan beginning as soon as he graduates in May. Mr. W was saddened to hear that Luanne would be leaving, but offered to fund her in starting up her own pastry boutique once she's settled in the city. Luanne recommended me to take her place and Mr. W was thrilled to learn that I was very interested.

Joellen will be graduating from college back home this spring, and she wrote to tell me that she'd started dating a guy in her classes, but that she'd always love me and hoped we could remain friends. It wasn't a shock, and I discovered that, while I still cared for her deeply, I knew that it would be fine this way and that we would really be able to be friends. She mentioned in the letter that she'd put on a couple of more pounds, much to her mother's dismay, but that -- strangely enough -- her boyfriend didn't seem to mind.

My weight has settled down at around two-hundred pounds and I like the way I look right now: soft, yet firm; fat, yet shapely; round, yet well-proportioned. I still wear my jeans very tight and I know that quite a few heads turn when I walk down the street, swinging my big hips from side to side. There's a very beautiful girl who works in the kitchen of the restaurant -- a very out-of-the-closet lesbian sophomore -- who's always engaging me in conversation or making a big deal out of fixing me something special for my meal break; I can feel her eyes boring into my soft butt as I carry a tray out to a table and it gives me a little tingle and causes me to add a little extra wiggle to my walk. We're meeting for coffee after work on Thursday, when the restaurant closes for two weeks for Christmas.

And speaking of Christmas, I have no definite plans, but I do have a key to the store...

The End

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