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Show 145 and trim-yet each boat with its own perfection, its own inherent possibility- there was a design in it, somehow. Behind her Robbie slid open the glass door-how about a drink? Fine, she wanted one. Turning from the boats she followed him into the kitchen. "Scotch and soda?" "Yuck-how can you drink that stuff? I'll have burbon and seven." "The old standby, huh." He poured the whiskey, and then the mix, deliberately handling the glasses and the bottles, obviously enjoying the feel of them in his hands. It was pleasant watching him about this task. Her dad and mom had always drank boubon, and Sharon did like the taste of it. But more than that, she liked the idea of having a drink, of holding the glass in her hand. Robbie had started drinking Scotch in college. It had been the thing to do, she knew, he was like that. And she liked him for it. It was like this apartment, which was also the thing to do after a young man graduated from college and took his first job. In some movie she had heard the word "smart"-meaning style. Robbie was smart, in that way. A smart young man. Finished with his pouring-really, it was a ritual with him- he handed her a glass and straightened, to his full height, cocking his own glass to her. "Well, Sis-to you." "And to you." She clinked his glass with hers. "To us." The whiskey was bitter, warm going down, perfect. But as it hit her stomach, she rembered skipping breakfast. "How about some eggs and toast? Have you eaten?" |