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Show Motherlunge a novel 69 boots: a handsome woman. A woman whose lucky husband admires her and enjoys selecting fine jewelry for her-sometimes "just because." It says he'd marry her all over again, the way you might re-read a favorite book or a book that you didn't really understand the first time through. I decided yes, anyone would notice my sister. Admire her. Trust her. She was beautiful, poised, competent-seeming-it wouldn't occur to you that she was related to the other one, the one who trailed behind her with a Styrofoam cup held aloft, coffee dripping down her wrist. Pavia turned her head to me. "Come on. They're almost landing now. " She pulled her purse across her stomach and walked faster. The Reeds lived in a nearby suburb with a springer spaniel and now, two days before Christmas, they were returning from Jamaica. No doubt they had colorful local handicrafts-a tiny knitted vest in Rastafarian colors for the baby?-and a camera full of pictures of themselves with their arms slung around their new pals, the bus driver and pool boy. The Reeds were like that, I had inferred over time; they were interested, I sincere, and appreciative. Like Jack, who was one of them, of course. And then just ahead of us on the concourse as we drew near the security gate, i there was Jack's back. He was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking up at the Arrivals screens in a way that gave him a slight overbite, an innocence. Pavia quickly veered left toward the women's bathroom, and motioned for me to follow. Tucked inside the little alcove by the bathroom, Pavia sat down in the first of three banged-up wheelchairs parked next to the drinking fountain. She flipped the metal |