| OCR Text |
Show THE BRUISE-11 to intrude, but an armed robbery has been reported and we need your report, too." I motion the policeman to the kitchen table and I begin to tell him about the robbery. I look over at my mother, afraid this might worry her, but she is standing at the window, peering out of the louvres, a glass of brandy in her hand, too far away to hear me. I talk to the policeman about how I had the door locked, the window rolled up, and I think about the man with the frightened eyes. My mother and Peter are sitting again, leaning toward each other across the coffee table, the pewter bowl of apples. She doesn't seem to wonder why the policeman is here, or else she is being very tactful. Perhaps she'll ask me about it later. They are smoking and drinking brandy. They are looking at each other. My mother picks up an apple and rubs it against the curve of her cheek. I tell the policeman about rolling down my window, and slipping out the money and how it seemed just like going to the store |
