unenthusiastically. “Do you want to meet at the church, or would you rather come to my apartment?”
“You’re sure you’re up to it? You don’t sound as though you really want to go.”
“I don’t want to go. And you’re the third caller today to remind me about it. But I’ll be there, so if you want a barricade I guess I can provide it.”
He decided to come to my apartment at twelve-thirty- easier than looking for each other in the crowd of family, nuns, and schoolmates who would be packing the church. I gave him directions and hung up.
I wondered if Burgoyne lost many patients-if he did, he must feel chewed up all the time. Maybe the relatively high standard of living in the northwest suburbs meant that he didn’t have a lot of high-risk pregnant women using his beautiful neonatal-care center. Maybe Consuelo was the first pregnant teenager he’d treated since leaving Chicago. Or maybe he really hadn’t started treating her right away because he thought she was an indigent Mexican.
I called Lotty to let her know I wouldn’t be going to the funeral with her and went back to bed. This time I slept soundly and dreamlessly and woke a little after five the next morning.
I put on shorts and a sweatshirt and walked the two miles to the harbor to watch the sun burst over the lake The fisherman-or some fisherman-was there again casting into the slate-still water. I wondered if he ever caught anything, but didn’t want to disturb the Dutch-landscape beauty of the scene by talking to him. On the way home I tried jogging a few blocks, but the motion set up an unpleasant shaking in my face. Give it a few more days.
Mr. Contreras opened his front door as I came into the lobby.
“Just checking that it was someone who belonged here, doll. You feeling better today?”
“Much, thanks.” I went on up the stairs. Morning is not my favorite part of the day-this was the first time all summer I’d been outside early enough to see the sun rise-and I wasn’t in the mood for chitchat.
I went to a small safe I’d had built into the wall in the hall closet and took out my gun. I don’t often carry it, but if Rawlings picked up Sergio and I signed the complaint I might need it. I cleaned the Smith & Wesson carefully and loaded it. With the clip in, it weighed over two pounds, an awkward weight if you’re not used to it. I stuck it into my waistband and spent some time practicing getting it out and releasing the safety quickly. I really should go to a range regularly, but it’s one of a myriad high-discipline projects I can’t force myself to undertake.
After a quarter hour or so of practice I put the gun away and wandered out to the kitchen. Yogurt with fresh blueberries went down easily so I had two bowls with the morning Herald-Star. Gooden had shut the Cubs out in the first game, but under the smooth arm of Scot Sanderson the good guys had come back 7-2 in the second.
I put the bowl into the sink. Thanks to Mr. Contreras’s work, it was the only dirty dish in the house. Maybe I should have him up for dinner every Sunday.
I surveyed the living room. Clutter to live by. But I was damned if I was going to clean house just because Burgoyne had invited himself to Consuelo’s funeral. By the same logic I left the bed unmade and added my shorts and sweatshirt to several other garments draped across a chair.
I went into the bathroom to inspect the damage. The reddish-purples in my face were already trailing away to greens and yellows. When I pressed my tongue underneath the wound, it pulled against the‘ stitches but didn’t gape apart. Dr. Pirwitz had been right-this was going to clear up pretty fast. It seemed to me makeup would only accentuate the horrors of the flesh; I limited my toilet to a careful washing and anointing of the wound with the salves given me at Beth Israel.
For the funeral, I picked a navy suit whose bolero jacket ended low enough on
“You’re sure you’re up to it? You don’t sound as though you really want to go.”
“I don’t want to go. And you’re the third caller today to remind me about it. But I’ll be there, so if you want a barricade I guess I can provide it.”
He decided to come to my apartment at twelve-thirty- easier than looking for each other in the crowd of family, nuns, and schoolmates who would be packing the church. I gave him directions and hung up.
I wondered if Burgoyne lost many patients-if he did, he must feel chewed up all the time. Maybe the relatively high standard of living in the northwest suburbs meant that he didn’t have a lot of high-risk pregnant women using his beautiful neonatal-care center. Maybe Consuelo was the first pregnant teenager he’d treated since leaving Chicago. Or maybe he really hadn’t started treating her right away because he thought she was an indigent Mexican.
I called Lotty to let her know I wouldn’t be going to the funeral with her and went back to bed. This time I slept soundly and dreamlessly and woke a little after five the next morning.
I put on shorts and a sweatshirt and walked the two miles to the harbor to watch the sun burst over the lake The fisherman-or some fisherman-was there again casting into the slate-still water. I wondered if he ever caught anything, but didn’t want to disturb the Dutch-landscape beauty of the scene by talking to him. On the way home I tried jogging a few blocks, but the motion set up an unpleasant shaking in my face. Give it a few more days.
Mr. Contreras opened his front door as I came into the lobby.
“Just checking that it was someone who belonged here, doll. You feeling better today?”
“Much, thanks.” I went on up the stairs. Morning is not my favorite part of the day-this was the first time all summer I’d been outside early enough to see the sun rise-and I wasn’t in the mood for chitchat.
I went to a small safe I’d had built into the wall in the hall closet and took out my gun. I don’t often carry it, but if Rawlings picked up Sergio and I signed the complaint I might need it. I cleaned the Smith & Wesson carefully and loaded it. With the clip in, it weighed over two pounds, an awkward weight if you’re not used to it. I stuck it into my waistband and spent some time practicing getting it out and releasing the safety quickly. I really should go to a range regularly, but it’s one of a myriad high-discipline projects I can’t force myself to undertake.
After a quarter hour or so of practice I put the gun away and wandered out to the kitchen. Yogurt with fresh blueberries went down easily so I had two bowls with the morning Herald-Star. Gooden had shut the Cubs out in the first game, but under the smooth arm of Scot Sanderson the good guys had come back 7-2 in the second.
I put the bowl into the sink. Thanks to Mr. Contreras’s work, it was the only dirty dish in the house. Maybe I should have him up for dinner every Sunday.
I surveyed the living room. Clutter to live by. But I was damned if I was going to clean house just because Burgoyne had invited himself to Consuelo’s funeral. By the same logic I left the bed unmade and added my shorts and sweatshirt to several other garments draped across a chair.
I went into the bathroom to inspect the damage. The reddish-purples in my face were already trailing away to greens and yellows. When I pressed my tongue underneath the wound, it pulled against the‘ stitches but didn’t gape apart. Dr. Pirwitz had been right-this was going to clear up pretty fast. It seemed to me makeup would only accentuate the horrors of the flesh; I limited my toilet to a careful washing and anointing of the wound with the salves given me at Beth Israel.
For the funeral, I picked a navy suit whose bolero jacket ended low enough on
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