by Farris, John
“There’s Steppie,” she murmured, and he wished he could look back at her. But he was afraid to.
“Didn’t I tell you? She married again about two months ago. The doctor who was treating her for headaches. She told me the other day she was going to get pregnant by the end of this month. Or else.”
“I thought you and Steppie would ...”
“Maybe we tried, Lucy. But there was too much against us, from way back when. And my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t really want her, I guess. I wanted you.”
“You’re forty-two years old,” she said. “And you’re starting to lose your hair.”
“There’s something else. I can drink again. Apparently I wasn’t a real alcoholic; the condition was mental. So now and then I have a cold beer when I get home, if I feel like it. It means no more to me than a cold beer should. Lucy?” There were tears in her eyes. “You miserable—bastard. Why didn’t you tell me anything? A bunch of polite letters, and I never knew ...”
“Trying to be honest with you, I guess, Lucy. I suppose that’s a part of the way toward saying that I love you.”
“It’s an important part,” Lucy said.
“But I don’t know how the rest should go.”
She walked carefully away from him, around the other side of the desk, and stood close to the glass, looking out at the Capitol blazing white and beautiful against the sky.
“There always seemed to be something wrong with the one in Washington,” she said. “I suppose it’s just because I’ve always been a homegrown girl. Why do you think I came back here, you?” There was a sudden joyful lilt in her voice.
“I—can’t even ask,” Practice said miserably.
“He’s losing his hair,” she said scornfully to nobody, and then she wheeled and faced him, her eyes glinting in the dark. She came slowly toward him, and as she approached, there was a change in her face; she was more than beautiful, she was real and adoring, and more than a little lonely herself.
They raised their hands and touched them together, palm against palm.
“Take me home,” Lucy said gently. “I’ll show you how the rest should go.”
Table of Contents
The Odor of Violets
horrorshow
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2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
I Scream. You Scream. We All Scream for Ice Cream.
Scare Tactics
The Guardians: A Novel
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
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