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Show CHAPTER EIGHT Katie's new mood held. In the following days, she remined almost agreeable to be around. She often helped with supper, she even occasionally put the kids down. Until Sharon began to relax, somewhat anyway, when she was at home. Until she did not continually study Katie secretly for a deterioration back into her former bitchiness. One test came when Katie asked if she would go shopping, to the grocery store, with her. Sharon did not know what to say; Katie, even before she had become sick, had never been a good driver, Sharon had never enjoyed riding with her. Katie read her hesitation, "You drive," Katie suddenly suggested, "if you like." "Okay," Sharon said, "Yes. I'd like that." She had driven the Cadillac before, short little trips to the store, or to pick up one of the kids from school. But she had never driven with Katie as a passenger, so it was with some trepidation that she backed the long, wide car down the driveway. For all its bulk, however, it was an easy car to drive, with its fingertip power steering, its adjustable wheel, its cushioned ride-it was indeed, like the advertisements claimed, almost like driving the front room couch. On the way down the hill, Katie was unusually silent; Sharon sensed that she was being watched. When she pulled up to the stop light at the intersection leading to the center, Katie finally spoke: "You like to drive, don't you." "I love it. I can't think of anything that I'd rather do." |