“Divorce disrupts. Bachelorhood palls. And work—not time—heals all heartbreaks.Business was booming at the West Bank. I slept soundly for the first time in two years. Funny, in fact, how the booming of a business can sometimes soothe you even better than a lullaby.I had finally managed to convince myself that RuthClaire and I were through—as man and wife, if not as wistfully wary friends. After all, she was with child by her habiline husband, Adam Montaraz, and no one could gainsay her devotion ...to the little man. He had impregnated her where I had failed to. He had moved with her to Atlanta. He had become a successful artist, and his private evolution toward a kind of genteel Southern sophistication was, well, efficiently evolving. The Atlanta Constitution would occasionally report that the Montarazes had attended a gallery opening, or a play, or a sporting event. Three times I’d seen Adam’s photograph in the paper, and twice he had been wearing a tuxedo.RuthClaire, on the other hand, had been wearing designer maternity clothes.Encountering such items, I would mumble, “I’m glad they’re doing well.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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