OCR Text |
Show Woodworth/l62 she wasn't going to stop, or turn the wheel, or anything. She said it wasn't even like she was angry, or scared, or anything. She just knew she was going to crash the car, and that she might die. She wrecked the car, and had to be in the hospital for about two weeks with a concussion." "You know that story. I must have heard it a hundred times." "Yeah. But that's not the point. She finished telling it, and then she said, 'Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.1* And she hung up. I tried to call back, but no one answered. Marty, I never even heard her say anything to do with religion out loud before either." She paused. "What do you think is going on?" Marty's first impulse is, "I don't know, and I don't care." Her body demands sleep. Megan can usually handle things herself. But Megan is waiting for an answer. "I don't know," she says finally. "Don't you think it sounds weird?" She has to answer. "Well, yeah. I guess so." "Why was she quoting the Lord's Prayer, and then not answering the phone?" "You know Mom. She likes to be dramatic." They sit in silence again, and I arty pictures her sister twisting a lock of her hair around and around her finger, shoving it between her teeth, sucking on it. With her own hand, she carefully explores the texture of the sofa cover. Brushed, cordless corduroy. Soft. She can, if she concentrates, feel the different tufts of threads that make up the pile. She runs a fingernail under the seam of the piping at the edge of the pillow. She pictures Megan in blue jean cut-offs and an over- |