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scooted a stack of damp looking objects across the table at him. ''Hero," she grumbled, "if you're gonna sit there and feel sorry for yourself, go through this stack of bills. Linda said they was a'layin' on the seat of that sorry thing you call a truck." |
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Bartholomew looked at his chore and winced. Here he was, with the back of his head split open, one hell of a throbbing headache, listening to the advance of a storm that could reduce to rubble his one earthly possession that amounted to anything, and the old woman was insisting he go through a stack of bills. |
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He shrugged, ignoring the obvious, and began inspecting the two packages. The one from the Chamber was expected, the one with Ruthie's name on it wasn't. He inspected the second one a little closer, noted the postmark and started to smile. It had been mailed from Saint Johns, Newfoundland, in February, and it was now October. Whatever it was, it stood a darn good chance, after all that time, of being either broken or spoiled or both. A closer look revealed another curious fact; there was no return address. He shook the package and heard what he would have described as a sloshing sound. The effort sent a pain rippling through the base of his skull, and he set the package back on the table. |
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Further speculation about the tardy pack- |
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