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Show k6 "He left at noon. He should be five hundred miles from here by now." "That's terrible," said Fogarty. "That's rotten." "No it's not." Sparkle stared at him damply. "How would you like to go to prison?" Fogarty gave in. What was the point of resistance. "Okay, Spark," he said, "if it's not bad that you gave up your rent money so your brother could skip out on the law, and on you, then why are you crying?" She looked at him incredulously. "You see these?" she said, holding up her white high-heeled shoes before his face. "I broke them. Both of them. Coming up your front steps. See?" Fogarty could see now that they were cheap, and that the spike heel on one, and the strap on the other, were broken. How had she managed it? And meanwhile, in the act of showing him the shoes, she had somehow snuggled her small frame into his on the couch-made herself tiny, defenseless-and he was caressing her hair, feeling her heat, was aware of her jasmine smell. How had she managed it? "Can I stay with you?" she said softly. "Just for tonight?" Fogarty did not have to think about it. "No," he said, knowing he meant it, that he would continue to mean it. But he did not, could not, stop from stroking her hair; and it was hard, a few minutes later, to watch from his own darkened window as she crossed the empty, brightly-lit street. He watched sadly, with concern; and for a moment it seemed clear to him that she too was apprehensive about the pick-up. But |
