Robbie and Uncle Donnie Find Each Other

Robbie

“Uncle Donnie!” Robbie squealed, “what are you doing here?” She flew off her porch, ran to my outstretched arms, and literally jumped onto me, wrapping her slim legs around my hips and her freckled arms around my neck.
She kissed me on the cheeks, over and over. When she dropped her feet to the ground, she looked up at me and said, “I just can’t believe this. I was just thinking about you this morning. I was looking through some old pictures, and there you were,” she took my hand and started leading me to the house, “you were in that white sport coat, at my wedding. You looked sooooo handsome… well, you still do.” She gave me another peck on the cheek. “So, what are you doing in Iowa?”

“Honey,” I squeezed her little hand and told her, “there’s only one reason for me to come to a little, Podunk, place like Blairstown, Iowa, to see my favorite niece.”

Robbie is my brother’s daughter, his only child. She was always close to me, as her only uncle, with no aunts. She was always a small girl, the smallest in her school classes. But her brilliant mind and determination, made her popular with her classmates.
The all-star jock, Jason, wooed her, screwed her, and knocked her up, just before they graduated. They married, she had her little boy, and the little guy died six weeks later. His lungs just wouldn’t develop. She remained barren after that.
My own son, my only child, had been killed in Vietnam.
Jason and Robbie remained married for fifteen years, when he left her for a former girlfriend. They had re-connected at a class reunion. That was two years ago.

This was the another common ground Robbie and I had. My wife, Carol, had left me, about five years before, for our next door neighbor. As it turned out, she’d been fucking him for over two years.

My brother, and Robbie’s mother, had been killed in a traffic accident, several years ago, so Robbie was the only kin I had left, and I, hers.

“Gosh,” she bubbled, “I can’t believe it, here you are, in my kitchen.” She gave me another hug, “How long can you stay? I have plenty of room. We need to do lots of catching up. Let’s see…I guess the last time I saw you was…at the funeral. That was hard, Uncle Donnie, really hard.”
Speaking of hard, watching my 35 year-old niece, babbling and bouncing around the kitchen, in very short shorts, was putting some life into my manhood. I slid my chair closer to the table, so she wouldn’t notice. At the ripe old age of fifty one, I may have slowed down, but I wasn’t dead, yet.