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Back Black Ambrosia Save as PDF
Chapters (46)
  1. CoverImage
  2. Introduction by Grady Hendrix
  3. Acknowledgments
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. About the Author
  46. About the Cover

I don’t know if this will in any way repay you for the ordeal you endured here, but let me add this: Never before have I been so thoroughly entertained by one as soft and tender as you. The experience of the past two nights has been one of sublime ecstasy for my departed morals, and for that I am much indebted.

May peace be with you.

Rosemary.

Tears ran down my cheeks. I knew exactly what she meant. I could easily end up like her, old, alone, picking up crippled kids in out-­of-­town truck stops on Christmas Eve in order to satisfy that . . . that . . . what? God! I crumpled the letter in my hand and gave myself up to a half-­dozen solid sobs.

I was different from her. I would never end up like her. Never. I could beat this thing. I would beat it. I was beating it. I just needed to get to Sarah’s.

I tried out the cane, practiced with it, began to learn how to walk with less pain. When my insides had calmed down a bit, I washed my face again, blew my nose, and combed my hair. Then I hefted my pack and limped, cane in hand, through the door, leaving it open behind me.

I hobbled down the stairs and into the early nighttime traffic. It was cold, but there was no biting wind. I looked around for a few moments, trying to get my bearings, but then I had no bearings. I didn’t even know what city I was in.

I still had the ten dollars the salesman had left me, so I walked to a little coffee shop on the corner. It was warm inside, one whole corner filled with police­men drinking coffee and talking quietly among them­selves. I took a seat at the counter and ordered hot cocoa and a sandwich. The folded newspaper on the counter said I was in Santa Fe. I was close. Probably less than one hundred miles stood between us. I knew Sarah would take me in. She had taken me in when I was sick before, she would take me in again. She would help me, and this would be the last time I would ever need anyone’s help. The very last time.

I drank the cocoa and ate a few bites of tuna, paid my bill, and walked over to the table of blue uniforms.