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Show 122 was fifteen," she turned quickly to look at Sharon, "don't tell this to the kids. To David. Or anyone for that matter." Sharon nodded her head, she wouldn't. "So anyway, I was fifteen. Fifteen years old. I was gone two years before my mom died. And if I had to do it over again, I'd do the same thing. In a minute. My mother and I-we didn't get along. At all." Katie lapsed into silence, thoughtfully looking out the window. And remembering her own situation of a couple of weeks ago, Sharon was curious: "Where did you go?" "Down to San Diego. It was nineteen hundred and forty-five. The war was still on. There was a sailor on every corner, with money in his pocket." Katie stopped short at that, looking back out the window. But now Sharon was really curious: just how did Katie live? "My mother was thirty-five when she died. Cancer, they said. I never even knew that she had it. She never wrote." Again Katie laughed, that hard chuckle. "But then, she didn't know where I was for sure." Sharon didn't dare ask, she decided; Katie didn't want her to, she could sense that. "Thirty-five years old," Katie said. "I'm thirty-five. Thirty-six next March. I don't know. It doesn't seem possible." A car honked behind them; the light for which Sharon had stopped had turned green. "Oh, go blow it out your butt!" Katie yelled over her shoulder out the window. The driver was a middleaged man in a suit-had he heard? His windows were rolled up. Sharon concentrated on her driving |