Death On a Silver Platter
“If anyone had cared to observe him, they wouldn’t have been able to tell he was crying, except that his shoulders were shaking. In his mind’s eye he saw his distant past—a boy, thin-chested and bright-faced, blond buzz cut because that’s what his mother liked, gentle to a fault. How that boy had evolved into the middle-aged man he saw in the mirror now was a mystery, one he didn’t want to concentrate on too carefully.Danny realized that, without his mother around, without the kind of commotion ...caring for an old woman created, the rooms of the old house seemed profoundly still. Within that stillness he could hear his life echoing. His mother’s death had made him sentimental. He hated sentimentality.In Manhattan, Danny’s world was rarely quiet. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of novels he would have written if he’d stayed in Minnesota, married a good Lutheran girl and remained close to the old homestead. Would he have written at all? Or would he have moved in some different direction?MoreLess
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