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Show 277 "Richie thought that was dumb," she said. "But I wasn't about to drink anything that came out of that pitcher after that. You don't know what was on its feet. All I could think was it might have dropped a speck into the milk. It still makes me sick to think about it." Another time she told him about turning all the pictures in her bedroom to the wall when she was a child. "It was crazy," she said. "I felt like they were all looking at me and I didn't want to be looked at. Especially when I was getting undressed to go to bed. There was this one especially of two kids in a rowboat and they'd lost their paddle. One of them is looking at it floating away and the other one is trying to make the dog stop eating all the sandwiches. There was one of my dad and some other man wearing straw hats and carnations, I think it was after the war. There weren't too many, actually, and some of them weren't even of people. They were castles and things, with a few people wandering around under the trees. But they really freaked me. I turned them face to the wall every night before I got undressed and turned them back every morning before my mother came in and saw them. I don't think she ever saw them." One Sunday afternoon he was helping her with the dishes while Sorenson and Richard argued in the living room, this time about apostolic succession, and she began telling him, rapidly and in a low voice, about the strange thing that had happened to her, her guarded references to which had been burning a hole in his brain for months. He didn't know why she was telling him now. He was a little alarmed, and his first thought was that he should go get Sorenson. The occasion was their honeymoon trip to the Upper Peninsula the year before, ostensibly a time to wander through woods and go boating on crystal lakes, and fish and watch the sun rise before Richard was to start his new job, but in fact they had rented a cabin and |