Chapters (51)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Acknowledgments
- P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . .*
- About the Author
- About the Book
- Also by Alison Gaylin
- About the Publisher
Gabriel is parking our car now, about twenty feet away from the other cars. He parks in the shadows, cuts the lights. He tells me to take all the stuff out of the back. I ask him where he’s going. He won’t tell me, but I know. I’m watching him heading toward Brian’s Accord. I see the gun in his hand. Officer Nelligan’s gun. In the other, he is holding the handcuffs. A different girl would stop him. A better girl would. But I don’t. I just watch, and I sing to myself.
Oh, what a night.
Twenty-Six
Reg
“ARE YOU FEELING all right, Mr. Sharkey?” It was Mrs. Bowen from next door. Always sticking her nose in everybody’s business, especially Reg’s. She’d lived in that house for God knows how many years, and for as many of those years as he could remember, Reg couldn’t go outside to mow the lawn or turn the sprinklers on or even get his mail out of his damn mailbox—which he was trying to do right now—without Mrs. Bowen popping up out of nowhere, her mouth open like a baby bird, ready to feed on his misery.
One time, he’d gotten her good. Just like always, she’d tapped him on the shoulder while he was watering his lawn and asked, “How are you, Mr. Sharkey?” leaning hard on the are, each word dripping with fake concern. But that particular time, Reg had turned around too fast and accidentally-on-purpose sprayed her with the hose. Made him smile just thinking about it. The sight of her in her sopping wet housedress, her roller-set curls all stuck to her face. “Well, I never!” she’d said. Like she was Scarlett O’Hara. But now that he thought about it . . . Boy, that had to have been a long time ago. Had to have been before he’d put the sprinkler system in, and he’d put the sprinkler system in just about a year after Kimmy was born . . .
Reg stared at Mrs. Bowen, wondering how it could be that she looked exactly the same as she had forty-five years ago. How was that possible?