overwhelmingly female that Charlie felt like a bull let loose in a roomful of Steuben glass.
Sneeze once and it was all over.
He thought about sleeping out on the deck but decided against it. Knowing Caroline, she'd probably be scandalized if her neighbors saw him out there with his pillow and his Walkman. Somehow it wasn't quite the wedding night most people dream about. He punched the pillow, scrunched it under his head, then squeezed his eyes tightly closed. His head was butted up against the unyielding arm of the sofa while his legs dangled off the other end. Sleeping on a bed of nails would be more comfortable than this modern nightmare.
He had a lot to look forward to.
#
Caroline wasn't faring much better.
Lying in her big brass bed, she felt alone for the first time in many years. Her home was different with Donohue in it. She couldn't explain how or why, but it seemed to Caroline that his presence was everywhere. Was he asleep, she wondered, or roaming about the apartment, feeling uncomfortable and out-of-place? Maybe he was hungry. She hadn't even bothered to show him the kitchen. She had sandwich fixings in the refrigerator and, thanks to Sam and Murphy, a few six packs of Coors tucked away. Beer wasn't one of her favorite things. She hoped he didn't make a hobby of drinking the stuff or--dear God, what a thought!--collecting the beer cans.
She could just imagine her elegant dining room walls with a mosaic of Coors/Bud Lite/Heineken framing the doorway.
That did it. She reached for the telephone and dialed Sam's number as she had been doing during times of trouble for the past twenty years....
#
The first day of school was always the hardest.
Carly Bradley stood in the doorway of her second grade classroom and felt that old familiar pain in her stomach. She hated school almost as much as she hated her step-father. Both made her feel small and insignificant, as if the slightest breeze would scatter her in a million different directions. Her stepfather did his best to pretend she didn't exist. He hated it that her mom had been married before he came along, and he especially hated Carly, the living breathing proof that there had been someone else. Tom Gretchner was a foul-tempered sort, the kind who scratched his belly and belched and did all sorts of disgusting things, but, at least, he did it in the house he shared with Carly's mom and twin baby brothers. Carly's shame was as private as her hopes and dreams.
But school was different. In school they tried to push and pull at you until you had no secrets left at all. Why, even the clothes you wore could tell a story. A story that you might not want anyone to hear.
Annie Riley was wearing a brand new plaid skirt and matching vest that Carly had seen in the window of Epstein's Department Store last week. The Rileys didn't have a whole lot of money, but Mrs. Riley always saved up her nickels and dimes so she could outfit her daughters in the finest clothes come September, even if it meant she went without. Connie Venturo's mom had knitted her a beautiful sweater in hunter green. It wasn't easy for Mrs. Venturo, with a job and everything. Carly just knew there was love in every stitch. Even Sandy Adamson, the most stuck-up girl in school, had someone who loved her. The pleats on her charcoal grey skirt were knife-sharp and her shimmery white blouse with poet sleeves and a portrait collar was ironed to within an inch of its life.
Carly glanced down at her mended cardigan and thrift shop jumper and bit back tears of embarrassment. Why, even the boys looked prettier than she did.
"Now don't you be worrying what people think of you, miss," her mother had said that morning as she tugged a comb through Carly's tangled blond hair. "You've got clean clothes on your back and that's more than you deserve."
"Is she bellyaching again?" Tom had lumbered into the room, his face bristly with stubble. "That's what you get for sending her to that fancy
Sneeze once and it was all over.
He thought about sleeping out on the deck but decided against it. Knowing Caroline, she'd probably be scandalized if her neighbors saw him out there with his pillow and his Walkman. Somehow it wasn't quite the wedding night most people dream about. He punched the pillow, scrunched it under his head, then squeezed his eyes tightly closed. His head was butted up against the unyielding arm of the sofa while his legs dangled off the other end. Sleeping on a bed of nails would be more comfortable than this modern nightmare.
He had a lot to look forward to.
#
Caroline wasn't faring much better.
Lying in her big brass bed, she felt alone for the first time in many years. Her home was different with Donohue in it. She couldn't explain how or why, but it seemed to Caroline that his presence was everywhere. Was he asleep, she wondered, or roaming about the apartment, feeling uncomfortable and out-of-place? Maybe he was hungry. She hadn't even bothered to show him the kitchen. She had sandwich fixings in the refrigerator and, thanks to Sam and Murphy, a few six packs of Coors tucked away. Beer wasn't one of her favorite things. She hoped he didn't make a hobby of drinking the stuff or--dear God, what a thought!--collecting the beer cans.
She could just imagine her elegant dining room walls with a mosaic of Coors/Bud Lite/Heineken framing the doorway.
That did it. She reached for the telephone and dialed Sam's number as she had been doing during times of trouble for the past twenty years....
#
The first day of school was always the hardest.
Carly Bradley stood in the doorway of her second grade classroom and felt that old familiar pain in her stomach. She hated school almost as much as she hated her step-father. Both made her feel small and insignificant, as if the slightest breeze would scatter her in a million different directions. Her stepfather did his best to pretend she didn't exist. He hated it that her mom had been married before he came along, and he especially hated Carly, the living breathing proof that there had been someone else. Tom Gretchner was a foul-tempered sort, the kind who scratched his belly and belched and did all sorts of disgusting things, but, at least, he did it in the house he shared with Carly's mom and twin baby brothers. Carly's shame was as private as her hopes and dreams.
But school was different. In school they tried to push and pull at you until you had no secrets left at all. Why, even the clothes you wore could tell a story. A story that you might not want anyone to hear.
Annie Riley was wearing a brand new plaid skirt and matching vest that Carly had seen in the window of Epstein's Department Store last week. The Rileys didn't have a whole lot of money, but Mrs. Riley always saved up her nickels and dimes so she could outfit her daughters in the finest clothes come September, even if it meant she went without. Connie Venturo's mom had knitted her a beautiful sweater in hunter green. It wasn't easy for Mrs. Venturo, with a job and everything. Carly just knew there was love in every stitch. Even Sandy Adamson, the most stuck-up girl in school, had someone who loved her. The pleats on her charcoal grey skirt were knife-sharp and her shimmery white blouse with poet sleeves and a portrait collar was ironed to within an inch of its life.
Carly glanced down at her mended cardigan and thrift shop jumper and bit back tears of embarrassment. Why, even the boys looked prettier than she did.
"Now don't you be worrying what people think of you, miss," her mother had said that morning as she tugged a comb through Carly's tangled blond hair. "You've got clean clothes on your back and that's more than you deserve."
"Is she bellyaching again?" Tom had lumbered into the room, his face bristly with stubble. "That's what you get for sending her to that fancy
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