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Show •229 instead I had fallen into the long story about Fancy and the strange times she and I had had in New York. "All that: New York, those people, that life-I don't know what to make of it," Jacob said. "it's like another country. I guess I don't know you very well, Buck." He stepped carefully over a puddle. "Enough about my troubles," I said. "What about you? Are you and Kathleen still happy? Do you still love her?" "I respect her; when I'm away I miss her. She's a good mother to the boys." He looked discouraged. "I don't know. Hell, Buck, what's happy?" "Do you ever think you might fall in love again with someone else?" "I'm thirty-five years old." "Shit," I said. "How old am I? Not much younger than you. It might happen to me." "That's different," Jacob said. "You're not like me." He put both hands on my shoulders. He was briefly happy. "You're a wild man; you might do anything. You're as wild as Carlo." "Carlo," I said. My brother's face turned somber. "Jesus," he said. "What do you think?" I said. "I think this is the saddest time of my life." "We have to help him," I said. He's the one Skinner |
