Dastardly Page 7
by Lorraine Ray
When I make it home, I try to concentrate my thoughts on my good luck, being excused from paying rent, but all I can manage to think about is this trucker’s opinion of Marsha’s emotional state. I keep reminding myself the trucker said Marsha loved me, and he gave me two reasons to believe that. First, the way she wrote about me years earlier and second, the fact that she’d given me money. Women were cheap, this man said, and Marsha had given me her dinero! I keep running those two facts through my head to check the reality of them. The trucker’s arguments make sense to me and I feel very happy. But why should I feel happy? This is going to be Marsha’s ruin.