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Authors: Diana Dempsey
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main characters, a
crime, a motive, and a solution.”
Her mom didn’t join a
group but remained in place, Michael’s latest paperback abandoned in her
lap. Her worried eyes were fixed on
her daughter, reading her—Annie knew—like a book.
It’ll be okay , she communicated wordlessly to her mother. This
too shall pass . She’d stayed
over at her parents’ house the prior night and told them about the FBI’s visit
to her own home the weekend before. They’d hit the roof, charging harassment and corruption and who knew
what else. Her new fear was that
they’d mount a protest and get five hundred of their best friends to converge
on San Francisco’s Civic Center.
Annie retreated to her
own chair and picked up the pile of student first chapters she hadn’t yet
skimmed. One of the blessings of
her divorce was that she wasn’t estranged from her parents anymore. For years she’d been caught in the
middle between them and Philip. The
fights they’d had! Her parents had
cast Philip as part of the "medical establishment," which in their
view committed such atrocities as withholding the cure for cancer so doctors like
him, and the corrupt drug companies with which he was clearly in cahoots, could
keep getting rich. When Philip
stopped fuming, he’d accuse them of being straggle-haired hippies who didn’t
understand the real world and failed to grasp that the 1960s weren’t a paradigm
of political action but a pot-smoking sex fest.
Annie’s reaction was to
distance herself from her parents. She regretted that now. They’d been right about Philip in so many ways. They were right when they said he always
put himself first. They were right
when they said she was subsuming her goals and personality to please him. And they were right when they said love
didn’t work that way, that it wasn’t love if that’s what was required.
“Ms. Rowell?”
She glanced up,
startled. She hadn’t been aware
that someone had approached. “Yes,
Kevin? Have you finished the
exercise?”
“Not yet. But I wanted to give you this.” He handed her a small box, the size that
might hold a piece of jewelry. And
it was a very distinctive, instantly recognizable box, in a particular shade of
eggshell blue, tied with a white satin ribbon.
She wasn’t sure what to
say. She raised her head to look at
him. He was neatly turned out as
always, clean-shaven, light brown hair trimmed, hazel eyes shining. He was as fastidious a 21-year-old male
as she’d ever met. “Kevin, you
bought something for me from Tiffany?”
“Well, I thought this
was a special time for you and all.” He spoke quickly and looked nervous, both typical for him. “You know, the book’s doing really well. Which of course you totally
deserve. Oh, and I wanted to tell
you something, too. I’ve been
writing reviews of Devil’s Cradle for
you on every web site I can find. Five star, of course. Not
that you need them.” He shifted
from one foot to the other. “You’re
getting really good reviews from everybody. Just tons of them. Of course the book is fantastic. I already told you that, though.” He paused and took a deep breath, as if
he were gearing himself up. “Of
course, you already know what I think of you. And of everything you write. It’s always just …” He bobbed his head a few times. “I don’t know how to say it. Everything you do is just always so … so
fantastic.”
“That’s really sweet,
Kevin, and thank you, but I can’t accept this.” She held the box toward him but he
stepped backward and raised his hands.
“No, no, I really want
to give it to you. I saved up, I
can afford it, don’t worry. But
don’t open it here, though,” he added, then glanced around as if he were concerned
someone might have heard him. “I’d
rather you opened it—” He
looked at the floor and shuffled his
crime, a motive, and a solution.”
Her mom didn’t join a
group but remained in place, Michael’s latest paperback abandoned in her
lap. Her worried eyes were fixed on
her daughter, reading her—Annie knew—like a book.
It’ll be okay , she communicated wordlessly to her mother. This
too shall pass . She’d stayed
over at her parents’ house the prior night and told them about the FBI’s visit
to her own home the weekend before. They’d hit the roof, charging harassment and corruption and who knew
what else. Her new fear was that
they’d mount a protest and get five hundred of their best friends to converge
on San Francisco’s Civic Center.
Annie retreated to her
own chair and picked up the pile of student first chapters she hadn’t yet
skimmed. One of the blessings of
her divorce was that she wasn’t estranged from her parents anymore. For years she’d been caught in the
middle between them and Philip. The
fights they’d had! Her parents had
cast Philip as part of the "medical establishment," which in their
view committed such atrocities as withholding the cure for cancer so doctors like
him, and the corrupt drug companies with which he was clearly in cahoots, could
keep getting rich. When Philip
stopped fuming, he’d accuse them of being straggle-haired hippies who didn’t
understand the real world and failed to grasp that the 1960s weren’t a paradigm
of political action but a pot-smoking sex fest.
Annie’s reaction was to
distance herself from her parents. She regretted that now. They’d been right about Philip in so many ways. They were right when they said he always
put himself first. They were right
when they said she was subsuming her goals and personality to please him. And they were right when they said love
didn’t work that way, that it wasn’t love if that’s what was required.
“Ms. Rowell?”
She glanced up,
startled. She hadn’t been aware
that someone had approached. “Yes,
Kevin? Have you finished the
exercise?”
“Not yet. But I wanted to give you this.” He handed her a small box, the size that
might hold a piece of jewelry. And
it was a very distinctive, instantly recognizable box, in a particular shade of
eggshell blue, tied with a white satin ribbon.
She wasn’t sure what to
say. She raised her head to look at
him. He was neatly turned out as
always, clean-shaven, light brown hair trimmed, hazel eyes shining. He was as fastidious a 21-year-old male
as she’d ever met. “Kevin, you
bought something for me from Tiffany?”
“Well, I thought this
was a special time for you and all.” He spoke quickly and looked nervous, both typical for him. “You know, the book’s doing really well. Which of course you totally
deserve. Oh, and I wanted to tell
you something, too. I’ve been
writing reviews of Devil’s Cradle for
you on every web site I can find. Five star, of course. Not
that you need them.” He shifted
from one foot to the other. “You’re
getting really good reviews from everybody. Just tons of them. Of course the book is fantastic. I already told you that, though.” He paused and took a deep breath, as if
he were gearing himself up. “Of
course, you already know what I think of you. And of everything you write. It’s always just …” He bobbed his head a few times. “I don’t know how to say it. Everything you do is just always so … so
fantastic.”
“That’s really sweet,
Kevin, and thank you, but I can’t accept this.” She held the box toward him but he
stepped backward and raised his hands.
“No, no, I really want
to give it to you. I saved up, I
can afford it, don’t worry. But
don’t open it here, though,” he added, then glanced around as if he were concerned
someone might have heard him. “I’d
rather you opened it—” He
looked at the floor and shuffled his
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