“Jenny clung to our mother, their arms entwined. I hugged myself, cradling my arm in its sling, as if my injury were the most precious thing in the world to me, while a rain so fine and insubstantial that it hardly seemed to exist tickled my face and neck. “His children’s names are Andrea and Curtis Junior,” she whispered. “They’re staying at Curtis’s house this week, so you’ll be meeting them.” “Don’t expect me to be nice,” I said. She reached over and squeezed my good shoulder firmly. “I do ex...pect you to be nice, Steven.” She looked at me for a moment, and I could tell that she was embarrassed or worried. “Why don’t you go put that garbage bag in the car, kiddo? I don’t think you need to carry it around, do you?” I looked down at it. I sure the hell wasn’t going to give it up. It gave me something to do with my good hand, for one thing. It gave me something to hold on to. “I like it,” I said. But there was no time for an argument because the door opened then, and a man shorter, fatter, older, and no better dressed than my father stood in the doorway.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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