Good is a trap for a girl. All sorts of roads are blocked with that one little word, all kinds of fun and happiness. Good's got nothing on the feel of Drew's mouth on her breast, his tan skin between her thighs. Good girls don't do this with anybody until after there's a ring on their finger; good girls would never dream of doing this with their own cousin, even if he did have curly dark hair and a killer bike.
She opens her legs wider, watches him move, looks up at his face, his eyes screwed tight in concentration. She pushes up against him and his eyes open on hers. His tongue in her mouth, now that's better than good.
She howls her triumph at the clouds and lets him roll them so that she's on top.
Good is a man with strong shoulders and a wide, smiling face and a solid old-fashioned name. Bill. Blond hair that makes him look younger than he probably is. He buys rounds for his buddies and their girls when it's his turn, no arguments about what happened last time. He's wearing dark jeans and heavy shoes, stands with his feet planted solidly apart.
He doesn't make a move until his third time back at the bar. Good things come to those who wait, he says, walking out with her phone number tucked tight in his pocket.
She decides she's going to marry him when he kisses the top of her head and brings her a cherry danish in bed. Good is worth wearing a white dress for.
Oh, but good is a trap for a woman. The worst kind of trap, when she's heavy and swollen with child, when all of her emotions can be dismissed as hormones rather than reality. It's more than not wanting him far away, it's more than wanting to know why she and the baby aren't enough for him. He doesn't get that, screws his face up in confusion.
It's not his fight, she knows it and she tells him. But he wraps her up tight in his arms so she's breathing in his warm, beery smell; he says he's doing good, fighting and killing evil things, making the world a good place again. Good for you and Joanna, he says with a big hand on her bursting belly.
It will only be good if he's there to share it. The silence stretches out between them.
Good disappears when Bill doesn't come home and all she has left is the look in John Winchester's eyes, those eyes that can't distinguish good from anything else.
She never repeats the word to Jo. Sends her off to school in the mornings with "Be smart" or "Be strong." Never "be good."
Good is a trap and she'll never make her daughter claw her way out of it.