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Show 133 for profit. So they shopped. On the Saturday before Labor Day, they left their sons at home and drove to The Aztec Plaza where they spent money until the entire gallery check was gone, shot, changed to shoes and sweaters and skirts, ultra-suede jackets, bedroom sheets, pool chemicals, turquoise jewelry, sunglasses, an Abyssinian kitten and a microwave oven. The back of Leah's Dodge Colt was stuffed. "There!" Leah said, with an exhausted breath. "There! It's gone! It's out; it's changed; something's better!" Then they drove home in silence. Both were thinking. Hunt reached out his hand to Leah's. She took it. Her eyes swam. "I love you," she said. She had the new kitten up close against her face, and she kissed it. Hunt knew that she had no idea why_ she loved him; it mystified her; she was just admitting she did. "You are my girl," he said to her, and they squeezed each other's hands almost to the point of bruising. Home, they found their two sons, stretched out and laughing in Sean's room, listening to their tape deck. Sean had an enormous bandage wound around his head. "Oh, my God: What happened?" Leah asked. "What happened, Sean? What happened, Todd?" Hunt was there. He was shaping questions. They got the story. The two had been playing backgammon, a long game, "a lot of kill-and-covers," Todd said. And so they'd stopped in the middle |
