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A
"Did Brent have a military record? Lots of our readers are vets," A
"I think he had a high draft number or maybe one of those college deferments," Amy told her, and A
Amy wasn't aware of her husband's dishonorable discharge.
A
Several things of interest had been disclosed. Amy wanted out of Carlsbad, and Jeff, her boss, the boyfriend, was a ticket back to the lush Christian greenery of the South. Moving out of state would have upped the stakes in the custody battle. A separation of a thousand miles rendered joint custody impossible on any practical level. Somebody was going to lose their children, the children they had come together for the purpose of creating.
As the adulteress, Amy might have lost that battle. Might have. A weak motive for murder. The scene just wouldn't play out in A
On the surface, the things A
Yearning for Guy Clark and settling for Clint Black, A
17
Darkness had folded quietly around the buildings by the time A
Loneliness became a way of life after Zachary was killed. At some point the stings and barbs had worn away until all that remained was a soothing aloneness. Periodically A
Sitting in the night's stillness, she prodded into dusty corners of her mind to see if this was healthy. Nostalgia for the past was there, mental pictures of Zachary blurred by the river of years that had poured over them since they were new-made. Nostalgia not only for the husband she had loved but for the youth they had lived. She'd been a young woman when she was widowed, not yet thirty-four. From the vantage point of her forties, that seemed young. At the time she'd felt too old to go on living.
Beyond this mist of memory there existed fragile hopes of finding a man with whom she could combine the littles of her life. Pictures of the animals going joyously two-by-two were created as much by the media as by personal need. Songs, billboards, movies, sit-coms, liquor ads repeated the mantra. Rock and roll summed it up concisely: even a bad love is better than no love at all.
A sharp rap on the window jerked A
"I thought I heard you pull up," Curt said as he opened the car door. "Can't you get out? If you push that little red button it'll undo your seatbelt." He took in the cramped interior of the Neon and added, "Sort of like unbuckling your roller skates."
A
Supper was spaghetti and red wine. A Fish Called Wanda was the evening's entertainment. At ten thirty Peter and Zeddie vanished down the hall. Wrapped in pajamas, sweatshirts, and candlelight, Curt and A
In the morning she was left alone in the house. Zeddie was giving an off-trail tour in Carlsbad Caverns; a trek of three or four hours crawling through rock-gutted wormholes to an immense cavern boasting an enormous ghostly formation and called the Hall of the White Giant. Curt and Peter responded as was appropriate to such an unexpected treat. A
If the snub bruised her delicate sensibilities, they were soon salved. Nobody bothered to shower. In a few short minutes they would be burrowing through the dirt like so many grubs. All the hot water was A
In the sanctity of the shower stall, she entertained pleasantly impure thoughts. Curt was, for lack of a better word, such a dear, his smile so deliciously canine. Opportunities had been presented on silver platters, but he'd never made a pass. For an instant A
Contradicting her macha nature-girl image, Zeddie's bath was stocked with enticing shampoos, scented soaps, creams, unguents, conditioners, and perfumes. Without suffering so much as a qualm of guilt, A