times,” May conceded. “Old habits die hard, you know. I just hope we’re doing the right thing.”
Anne laid a reassuring hand over her friend’s. “Don’t fret, May Ellen. I’m certain it’s going to work out this time; I can feel it in my bones.”
“Are you sure that’s not the new arthritis prescription Lloyd wrote for you?”
“No, dear, this feels much better. Purely right.”
“But Anne, what if Lily’s as stubborn as ever? Or Sean for that matter? He seemed very severe tonight. Hardly spoke a word to her.”
“Shocks of this magnitude tend to do that to McDermott men. My Henry was just the same,” Anne replied, smiling at the memory. “True, Sean can be hardheaded. And remember, May, he adores you. That makes him feel very protective.” She turned to the next page of the photo album and gazed fondly at the blur of faded colors that showed Lily and Sean at age six, hunched over the handlebars of their bikes as they tore down the street. Racing each other, as usual. “I don’t doubt our two grandchildren will both go down fighting,” she said. “But in terms of sheer stubbornness, they’re mere amateurs compared to us. Just stick to the plan, dear, and we’ll wear them down.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Other people had their sleep troubled by nightmares, by anxiety dreams of parading stark naked in a packed football stadium, or in front of the boss’s hysterical wife. Sean’s dreams were far more disturbing. . . . They were of Lily.
Even asleep, a part of Sean’s brain maintained a wary vigil, alert to her presence. So when in the landscape of his dreams, Ray’s snide voice echoed, demanding to know if Sean had ever handled the goods , his muscles tensed in expectation. Once again, Lily would haunt his rest.
A scene appeared and Sean was back in tenth grade, in Mr. Sneel’s zoology class.
Sean knew this dream, and knew, too, how wretchedly faithful it was to that day in March, right down to the tiniest detail. Even the lighting was right, the rows of fluorescent tubes flickering over Mr. Sneel’s bald head as he stood at the front of the class and patted the lid of a large white Styrofoam cooler.
A malevolent grin split his shiny face as he announced the little surprise he had in store for the class. He was giving them a pop test—a frog dissection, which would count for a fifth of the semester’s grade. Sneel would assign partners, one to perform the dissection, the other responsible for taking notes.
With sick fascination, Sean watched him remove the cooler’s lid. Sneel’s hand delved into it, then withdrew. Between his fingers, he dangled a squishy sealed plastic bag with a greenish, blackish blob trapped inside. At the sight, the class went quiet as the grave.
Sneel picked up the cooler and carried it around the room. With each formaldehyde-pickled frog he plunked down, he rattled off two students’ names.
Sean moaned in his sleep, dreading what was coming.
Sneel stopped and crooked his finger toward the other end of the lab. “Miss Banyon, if you please? I’d like you to take notes while Mr. McDermott dissects the specimen. Oh, and don’t even think about taking the scalpel away from him, Miss Banyon.” His lips thinned in a smile. “I’ll be watching.”
The dream’s pace shifted, fast-forwarding, and Sean was standing hunched over the lab station, staring at the frog on the metal tray. Legs splayed, it lay waiting to be sliced open with the kind of precision one saw Friday nights, sitting around a table at Benihana.
Sean began sweating. Not because of the test, but because Lily was right next to him. She hadn’t stood this close in years, certainly not since eighth grade. Sean had seen to that, by doing his damnedest to avoid being anywhere near her. It was the only way to control his body’s treacherous response.
He picked up the scalpel. And Lily sidled up to him. His indrawn breath captured the warm scent of her skin. Her long hair, which she brushed
Anne laid a reassuring hand over her friend’s. “Don’t fret, May Ellen. I’m certain it’s going to work out this time; I can feel it in my bones.”
“Are you sure that’s not the new arthritis prescription Lloyd wrote for you?”
“No, dear, this feels much better. Purely right.”
“But Anne, what if Lily’s as stubborn as ever? Or Sean for that matter? He seemed very severe tonight. Hardly spoke a word to her.”
“Shocks of this magnitude tend to do that to McDermott men. My Henry was just the same,” Anne replied, smiling at the memory. “True, Sean can be hardheaded. And remember, May, he adores you. That makes him feel very protective.” She turned to the next page of the photo album and gazed fondly at the blur of faded colors that showed Lily and Sean at age six, hunched over the handlebars of their bikes as they tore down the street. Racing each other, as usual. “I don’t doubt our two grandchildren will both go down fighting,” she said. “But in terms of sheer stubbornness, they’re mere amateurs compared to us. Just stick to the plan, dear, and we’ll wear them down.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Other people had their sleep troubled by nightmares, by anxiety dreams of parading stark naked in a packed football stadium, or in front of the boss’s hysterical wife. Sean’s dreams were far more disturbing. . . . They were of Lily.
Even asleep, a part of Sean’s brain maintained a wary vigil, alert to her presence. So when in the landscape of his dreams, Ray’s snide voice echoed, demanding to know if Sean had ever handled the goods , his muscles tensed in expectation. Once again, Lily would haunt his rest.
A scene appeared and Sean was back in tenth grade, in Mr. Sneel’s zoology class.
Sean knew this dream, and knew, too, how wretchedly faithful it was to that day in March, right down to the tiniest detail. Even the lighting was right, the rows of fluorescent tubes flickering over Mr. Sneel’s bald head as he stood at the front of the class and patted the lid of a large white Styrofoam cooler.
A malevolent grin split his shiny face as he announced the little surprise he had in store for the class. He was giving them a pop test—a frog dissection, which would count for a fifth of the semester’s grade. Sneel would assign partners, one to perform the dissection, the other responsible for taking notes.
With sick fascination, Sean watched him remove the cooler’s lid. Sneel’s hand delved into it, then withdrew. Between his fingers, he dangled a squishy sealed plastic bag with a greenish, blackish blob trapped inside. At the sight, the class went quiet as the grave.
Sneel picked up the cooler and carried it around the room. With each formaldehyde-pickled frog he plunked down, he rattled off two students’ names.
Sean moaned in his sleep, dreading what was coming.
Sneel stopped and crooked his finger toward the other end of the lab. “Miss Banyon, if you please? I’d like you to take notes while Mr. McDermott dissects the specimen. Oh, and don’t even think about taking the scalpel away from him, Miss Banyon.” His lips thinned in a smile. “I’ll be watching.”
The dream’s pace shifted, fast-forwarding, and Sean was standing hunched over the lab station, staring at the frog on the metal tray. Legs splayed, it lay waiting to be sliced open with the kind of precision one saw Friday nights, sitting around a table at Benihana.
Sean began sweating. Not because of the test, but because Lily was right next to him. She hadn’t stood this close in years, certainly not since eighth grade. Sean had seen to that, by doing his damnedest to avoid being anywhere near her. It was the only way to control his body’s treacherous response.
He picked up the scalpel. And Lily sidled up to him. His indrawn breath captured the warm scent of her skin. Her long hair, which she brushed
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