|
|
|
|
|
|
|
to kill me. They never cared for me enough to warrant violence." His voice sounded as dead as he felt inside whenever he thought of those lost years between his parents' death and college. In college he'd found another reason to survivebringing his stories and his drawings to children throughout the world. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Have you seen them lately?" |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
D.J.'s question brought him back to the subject at hand. "I haven't seen them since I moved out of their house the day after my eighteenth birthday. I packed my things, drove to Madison, entered college, and never looked back." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"They were paid to take care of me. The money was all they wanted. They were happy to see me go, Kirk most of all. Then they got another kid to take my place. The money stayed the same no matter who slept in the extra bed." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
D.J. remained silent for a long time. She continued to look at the paper in her hands, as if willing the words printed there to tell her a secret. Finally she crumbled the paper into a little ball and tossed it into the wastebasket. "Two points," she said, then glanced up at Chris. "Maybe your life wasn't so gingerbread house after all, McCall. I apologize." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Don't. People who've grown up with both parents always want to apologize to me for my lack of them. An apology doesn't help." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"No, I suppose it wouldn't. But, just for the record, I never knew my mother. She died in childbirth. And my dad was no prince of a father." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"In childbirth? Isn't that rare?" |
|
|
|
|
|