The Shadow of a Man

By Barbara A. Coloe

The Vietnam war coincided with great social change: The sexual revolution, the emergence of psychedelic drugs, the erosion of traditional marriage and the feminist movement all created new social conflicts.

Ted Cochran, at seventeen estranged from his traditional family, finds solace in the new social ideas. But shocked by the moral failures of the adults he encounters in this new world, he becomes confused about his own values and attachments. In spite of inner conflict, and thinking he can make the life he wants after the war, Ted enlists in the Navy.

Like most of the young men he trains with, he faces a reality he could not have imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483681894

Book preview

Copyright © 2013 by Barbara A. Coloe.

ISBN:               Softcover                        978-1-4836-8188-7

                        Ebook                            978-1-4836-8189-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book may be purchased for business or promotional use or for special sales. For information, please email Barbara A. Coloe, [e-mail]

Rev. date: 10/10/2013

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Contents

Book One

Leaving Home

Book Two

FEAR OF DROWNING

Book Three

NORTH WITH AN ANGEL

For all the young of every country who sacrifice their lives, well-being and futures to fight in wars not of their creation and which benefit them in no way. May they be healed.

and

To my dear friend and spiritual sister, who deserves my deepest gratitude. Arlene is the spark plug for this effort and it is impossible to over estimate what out collaboration and her encouragement have meant to me.

Book One

Leaving Home

Chapter One

The House on the Dirt Road

T HE COCHRAN FAMILY left their summer cabin in Southern Pennsylvania on a hot day in late August, 1966. The children climbed into their father’s Buick station wagon expecting to go home to their spacious old house in Narberth. Serena, the eldest child, her brother Ted and the younger children crowded the back seats. Paula Cochran held the baby, Colin, on her lap beside her husband.

Serena was anticipating spending the evening with her friends plotting what they would wear on the first day of their sophomore year. They would giggle about boys and gloat on their status as cheerleaders.

But their father headed the car East. Paula inquired mildly, Where are we going, Carson?

To New Jersey, Carson replied stiffly. Can’t you read the signs?

Why? Paula asked.

Because that’s where we live now. His cold blue eyes stared at the road ahead, his mouth a fine line. His damp collar stuck to his sweaty neck.

The children came to attention in the back seat, staring at the back of his head,

What are you talking about? Paula asked, stupefied. The sprinkling of freckles on her nose darkened as she flushed. She ran an anxious hand through her damp, wispy curls.

Jesus, Paula. Don’t you understand English? I told you, that’s where we live now. He slapped the steering wheel and turned to look at her, I sold the house.

How could you sell the house without me knowing? Disbelief and panic mixed in her voice, her pale blue eyes widened.

You signed the agreement of sale, Carson said. First week in July.

You told me that was the deed to the lot your father left you, Paula protested. Her hands clenched so hard on baby Carson’s arm that the he yelped.

I told you a million times to read documents before you sign them, Carson said. See what happens when you don’t listen to me.

Paula went white-lipped and silent. The baby whimpered on her lap. Thirteen year old Clarissa began to cry, stuffing the front of her tee shirt into her mouth. Doria, and Angela, although only seven and nine, tried to comfort her. Clarissa slid forward and put her hand on her father’s shoulder.

Daddy, why?

Carson’s voice soften, Business, Sister. You wouldn’t understand.

After that no one spoke. Fifteen year old Ted ardently wished for his father’s death and sixteen year old Serena thought about ways to accomplish it.

Carson drove over the Commodore Barry Bridge, through miles of farmland, down route 40. Driving around a river bend sparsely settled with half-hidden houses, Carson informed them, This is Mays Landing. We live half-way between here and Somers Point. Nobody responded. They’re both historical, he added into the silence.

The children looked out the windows at the uninterrupted expanse of pine oaks, scrub pine and wild laurel. Occasionally the river glittered through the trees.

At last Carson turned into a dirt road. At its end was a small house, buried in vines, hardly bigger that the summer cabin they had just left. Inside was a ten by twenty foot room with rusted kitchen furnishings at one end and a sagging day bed at the other. Off the big room was a make-shift bathroom, an add on that looked as if it would slip away. The ceiling sagged and the floor sloped. A loft with a pull-down, rickety staircase was partitioned into two areas with a single piece of plywood. Steps went down from the back yard into a half-cellar where there was an ancient oil burner, a pump, and a cot.

‘You’ll bunk down here," Carson told Ted.

How are we supposed to live here? Paula asked abjectly, brushing dust off the rickety stairs and getting a splinter for her trouble.

Carson took the sleeping baby from her and put him down on the day bed. He waved the other children outside to unload the Buick.

Carson, where’s my furniture? Paula asked, standing in the back door. He didn’t answer.

Paula rushed out and took her husband’s arm. Carson, my things, my mother’s linens, my wedding dress, the silver candlesticks… ?

Florid with exertion, Carson shook her off and heaved the girls’ bags to the foot of the pull-down stairs.

Gone, Paula, and you better get used to it, he said, pushing her out of the way. I sold everything.

Paula began to cry, jagged gasping sounds.

Though obviously irritated, Carson put his arm around her shoulder, C’mon Baby, stop whimpering! This won’t last forever. I was desperate! He swept his arm around, directing her view to the thick, scrubby woods that surrounded the house.

This is what I can afford; this is where you will live. Until you or I have a better plan. Okay?

The children started school that September, 1966, while Paula wrestled with the crotchety plumbing, the failing stove and the encrusted filth. Carson came to the tumble down house only on weekends. He brought food but his selections had little relationship to what anyone liked. Grudgingly, he hauled Paula or Serena into town to the laundromat and left them to do the week’s laundry. His visits were welcome only because he sometimes brought remnants of their old life: the second best dishes and cutlery, plastic curtains stiff with age. He brought winter clothes that smelled of mothballs, a few toys, Serena’s bicycle, Carson, Jr.’s crib and play pen.

As she unpacked a clutter of kitchen tools, Paula asked Carson, where are the rest of our things? Where is this stuff coming from?

This stuff is coming from the garage in Narberth where the buyers have generously allowed me to store what they didn’t want, Carson in a neutral tone. Would you prefer that I stop bringing things?

After that Paula gratefully accepted each worn, familiar item.

Still trying to make the best of it, Serena muttered darkly to Ted. Raging, she screamed at Paula, How could you let him do this to us?

In Narberth Serena had been an A student and a cheerleader. Although only sixteen, she had been a shoo-in for Homecoming Queen. Her amber eyes and topaz hair made her beautiful. The self-contained willfulness she had inherited from her father made her magnetic. Chronic anger gave force to her personality.

At her new school she quickly charmed the most popular girl in her sophomore class. Soon she was styling Sally Jo’s hair and helped her with her Spanish homework. Though first made nervous by Serena’s assertive attentions, Sally Jo was soon enthralled. It was she who persuaded the cheering coach that, in spite of her recent arrival, Serena’s cheering talents warranted a place on the first squad. That was the first week of school. By the second, Serena was dating Steve Morrison, the quarterback. Steve could have had his pick of any girl in school but he had never met anyone like Serena. He felt as if he were connected to her at his raging groin.

He’s a knot head, Serena told Ted, But he’s my ‘in.’

When Steve drove her home from school in his battered pick-up truck, Serena wouldn’t let him come down the dirt road to the house. Steve never revealed that he and many of the kids from school had necked in its squalid privacy before it was occupied. He would have protected her from dragons, instead he squashed gossips.

By early September Serena had gotten a job at the bowling alley and biked there from school to work. She was immediately popular at the snack bar and her tip jar filled daily. She rode her bike on Sundays to the one mall within ten miles, where she spent her money on clothes, make-up and a decent hair cut. Her sense of fashion and personal hauteur made her an instant power among her peers in spite of where she lived and her family’s obvious poverty.

At home she treated Paula with icy contempt and barely tolerated her younger siblings. She did, however, reserve some warmth for Ted, whom she saw as an ally in father hatred.

In October, in anticipation of cold weather, Carson decided to install insulation in the loft where the girls slept. He found Serena’s meager but new wardrobe hanging on nails in the rafters. Clumping down the stairs, he menaced the family with a fist full of pretty clothes. Whose are these? he growled.

Paula’s pink face shut tight. Her tired yellow hair curtained her eyes. Ted turned away. Carson’s wrathful gaze fell on Clarissa. Tell me who these belong to. He shook the clothes at her. Are they yours?

No, no, Daddy, they’re not mine, Clarissa stammered, They’re Serena’s.

Where is she? Carson demanded. No one answered. Again he turned on Clarissa. Where is she?

Clarissa glanced desperately at Paula’s tight-lipped face. She’s at work, she blurted, and began to cry.

Carson threw the clothes on the living room day bed where they lay like a mute accusation, and went back to stapling insulation. Tension hung in the house and flared when Serena came in at 5:30. Flushed and breathless from the long bike ride, she didn’t notice Paula’s stricken face. Carson clambered down the steps, grabbed up a handful of her clothes. Where did these come from?

Serena inhaled. I bought them.

"With what?’

With money I earned, Serena said defiantly.

How much money do you earn?

Serena pushed past him, None of your business.

Carson slapped her. Serena stormed up the stairs, Carson in close pursuit. The family cringed at the bottom of the steps.

You’ll tell me or I’ll beat it out of you.

You can beat me to death and I won’t tell you, you bastard. You don’t even tell Ma about anything and you want to know how much I make? There was the sound of struggling and a heavy thud as Carson’s body hit the floor.

Serena, her face scarlet, came flying down the stairs. I’ll see you in hell before I’ll give you a penny of my money, Daddy, she yelled over her shoulder.

I did what you should have done long ago, she hissed into Paula’s face. If that bastard takes one thing that belongs to me out of this house, I’ll come back and burn it down. She slammed out and raced off on her bicycle. Ted flew after her. He was very fast, long-legged and light boned, but the bike out-distanced him. Still, he ran on, calling out to her. Serena turned and came back. Ted was crying, his thick dark lashes spiky with tears. Serena smiled a tight little smile. I would kill him if I could.

I know, Ted panted. They stared at each other.

Well! Serena laughed nervously. I guess I’m the first to leave home.

He watched her ride away and went into the woods. The river flowed a half-mile away, its banks lined with cat tails and marsh grass. There was a small promontory, a little hump of dirt and asphalt tailings that rose six or seven feet above ground level, surrounded by scrubby vegetation. He climbed to the top and sat, weeping furiously, and watched the silvered water slip by.

At Sunday dinner, Carson told them, When Serena comes back you tell her to turn over half her pay to me every week, with a pay stub, or she can’t live here.

Ted’s lips moved involuntarily, She’ll see you in hell first. The words almost burst from him. He choked on nervous laughter. Clarissa giggled. Doria whimpered. Carson clenched his fists and started around the table. What did you say, Sonny?

Ted kicked his chair over and bolted. Once he was safely away, the woods hiding him, something in his chest shifted gears. He left the grief behind and followed deer paths. He crept home after Carson had left, to find Paula crying at the table. Where’s your sister, Ted?

I don’t know, Ma. Maybe Sally Jo’s. He patted her shoulder, Ma, how long are we gonna put up with this?

Paula’s large, open face was wet, Oh, Son, you know your father doesn’t mean to be so harsh. He’s so worried all the time.

Ted spread his thin hands helplessly. I’m going to bed, Ma.

Serena, shocked at her own behavior was at Sally Jo’s. She felt dislocated and needing someone who cared about her to know where she was. Oddly, she called Marianne in Brooklyn.

Marianne was almost as shocked as Serena. "oh my god!

Aren’t you scared? What are you gonna do?"

I don’t know yet but I know I’m never, ever going back there!

Her voice was rough with tears she was determined not to shed.

Chapter Two

The D’Amicos

Dear Ted, Clarissa sent me a letter from some place called MAYS LANDING in New Jersey. She says it’s terrible. She says she hates her new school and you live on a dirt road and take a school bus. She says nobody likes her. Do people like you? Do you like being in HIGH SCHOOL, even though you’re only a freshman? I can’t wait to be in HIGH SCHOOL. Mom and Dad fight all the time but I don’t think they’ll get divorced. She says she can’t live in Brooklyn because of the disgrace. He says as long as she doesn’t leave him, she can live anywhere she wants. Wouldn’t it be great if we lived near you? Dad brought Mom a new car. She says that if she can get it, your mom can have the old car that got left at camp when dad got shot. Here’s the key. Your friend, Joanne D’Amico. P.S. (My mom’s pregnant again.)"

T HE D’AMICO FAMILY had spent summers in the cabin they owned in Southern Pennsylvania, right next to the one the Cochran’s owned. Waldo D’Amico was a pharmaceutical sales rep, and Desiree D’Amico was a housewife. They had three daughters and two sons. An odd seasonal intimacy had grown up between the Cochrans and the D’Amicos.

Ted and Joanne had known each other since he was nine and she was seven. They were bestest friends, according to Joanne. Joanne was the third daughter in the haphazardly organized family that included her two older sisters, Marianne and Louise, and two younger brothers, Juney, and Spike. The oldest, Marianne, was her father’s surrogate. Taking their cues from their father, the D’Amico daughters treated their mother as if she were a large doll with an unpredictable temper.

Desiree was the only daughter of doting Jewish parents. She was round-faced, pretty and voluptuous. Her parents had thought her beauty priceless and her husband Waldo echoed their assessment. Dazzled by his good fortune, he expected nothing from her in the way of ordinary responsibility. Louise, the younger daughter, was her mother’s caretaker. Desiree never got into a bathtub alone. Louise scrubbed her back, cleaned her toe nails and applied facial mud. At six she was granted the privilege of shaving mama’s legs.

She could do my hair except she’s allergic to bleach, Desiree confided to Paula. Joanne was superfluous to these domestic arrangements and was free to observe and sometimes mediate in family clashes. She and Ted had negotiated the previous summer for Desiree to teach Paula to drive. Although Paula was an inept and anxious student, Ted, hanging over the back seat was a quick learner. By mid-summer Desiree was sending him in her car to the nearest grocery store for cigarettes and milk. She called him her protégé.

More from proximity than mutual interest, Paula and Desiree had become friends. Paula barely credited Desiree’s poolside confidences. They seemed like stories from a pulp magazine. Like the day Desiree talked about her father-in-law. The old man’s a doctor, she lowered her voice conspiratorially. He takes care of the local Mafia guys. And it pisses me off that he involves Waldo in his dirty business.

Shocked, Paula tried to forestall her, Desiree, maybe you’d better not tell me this.

Oh, come on, Hon, who could you tell? You live in Pennsylvania. She dismissed Paula’s reservations with a wave of her elegantly manicured hand. Confidentially, Waldo thinks I don’t know he’s a disposal specialist.

A what? Paula asked, wide-eyed.

A disposal expert. Doc D’Amico sets Waldo up. Like after they’ve whacked somebody they have to dispose of the evidence. She scowled, I always know because Waldo gets so tensed up.

Paula, aghast, asked, Why doesn’t he say ‘No’?

Oh, Waldo would do anything for his father. And you know how big he is, he’s the only guy who could do all that lifting and hauling – and other stuff, all by himself. Besides, it’s real good money.

Waldo was not only tall, he was stout, he was round. Round cheeks under a black thatch of hair that grew low over his thick eyebrows, heavy round shoulders into which his neck disappeared. His biceps bulged roundly through his extra-large, white shirts. His belly stretched like a ball to the front and sides. His open face and limpid, heavily lashed black eyes betrayed a stubborn innocence which his wife and father exploited ruthlessly.

Waldo had been an only child, raised by Mrs. Angelini, the D’Amico’s devoted housekeeper. His widowed father, Dr. Waldo D’Amico, Sr., was a tough, self-absorbed little man, who was sometimes surprised to remember he had a son. Waldo Senior was called Mitch by the few people in the world who didn’t call him ‘Doc.’ Sallow, with a deeply lined face, his distinguishing feature was the cigarette that habitually hung from the corner of his mouth, as if it had grown there. Mitch’s association with the local Mafia family added to his mystique with his neighborhood patients, all of whom deferred to him piously.

When Waldo was five his mother died giving birth to his sister, who also died. At the funeral he was lifted up to kiss his mother good-bye. He never got over it, Desiree told Paula dramatically.

Mary Angelina D’Amico had been laid in the satin interior of the coffin with her baby daughter folded in her arms. A blanket of calla lilies covered her to the waist. She was buried, at her husband’s insistence, in her wedding dress, her head embedded in a cloud of antique lace. Women fainted and men were led away sobbing. Mrs. Angelini took a picture of the mother and child which she gave to Waldo at his First Communion. His bride-mother, embracing her sleeping daughter was forever confused for Waldo with the Blessed Virgin Mary clasping the infant Jesus to her breast.

By eighth grade Waldo had reached six feet. He had had no time to adjust to his suddenly acquired size and was permanently awkward. A lonely boy, isolated in grade school and more so in high school, his world-view was shaped largely by the romanticism of Mrs. Angelini and the rigid piety of the nuns.

If I’d known him, I’d have made something of him, Desiree mused, But back then I was only interested in hunks. She gave Paula a startling tap on the thigh, Like your husband, huh?

Had Waldo mustered the interest to play football or basketball he might have been a star, but he hadn’t tried. He did mediocre work in college and was refused admission to medical school. He switched to pharmacology but dropped out when he discovered he could make a good living selling pharmaceuticals.

Waldo met Desiree in a bar. He had never dated and was socially awkward but that one night, fueled by champagne, he became a Lothario. Desiree was enchanted by the adoring lust she saw in his eyes and, despite her parents’ anguish and his father’s surprised resistance, they soon married and began having babies.

God, can you imagine, three girls in five years! And then Juney. God, what did I do to deserve Juney? Spike’s okay, he’s just a baby, but Juney! Desiree threw up her hands.

For Paula the intermittent relationship was like an on-going soap opera with intermissions that lasted for month.

Chapter Three

Take Me for a Ride

P AULA WAS SITTING on the rickety front steps, watching Carson, Jr. in his playpen. Ted, waving the letter from Joanne like a flag, tossed the D’Amico car key into her lap and announced, Ma, Mrs. D’Amico gave you her car.

Don’t be silly, Ted. People don’t give cars away.

Read the letter, Ma. He flung the smudged pages into her lap and circled the dusty yard, arms wide, singing, Take me for a ride in your car, car, take me for a ride in your car, car.

Paula crumbled the letter and tossed it at him. Ted, don’t be silly. It’s in Pennsylvania. We have no way of getting it.

I’ll get it, Ma. He would hitch-hike if he had to.

You don’t have a driver’s license, Ted, and neither do I, Paula pleaded.

I didn’t have a license when I drove to Brooklyn, Ma, and nobody said a word about it!

It had happened on the last day of July, 1966. Mr. Hogan, the manager of the camp, had come banging on Desiree’s door in the middle of the night. Within minutes, Desiree, screaming, was banging on Paula’s door. When Paula stumbled to the door, Desiree demanded, You have to drive me to Brooklyn. Waldo’s been shot. I can’t go alone, I’ve never driven that far.

What? He’s been what? Paula mumbled, knotting her bathrobe with shaking hands. How could he be shot?

Desiree was tearing at her hair. I don’t know how the hell he got shot. But he’s shot! Shot! They want me to come. He might die. Jesus Christ, he might die! she screamed.

I can’t drive you. Brooklyn is too far away. Who would watch the children?

Oh, my, God! My babies! I can’t leave them!

Ted slipped past Paula. To his mother’s surprise, he was fully dressed. I’ll drive you, Mrs. D’Amico, he said firmly. Mom can stay here with the kids.

I’ll be dressed in a minute, Desiree said and ran to her cabin. That Ted was only fourteen and had no driver’s license, mattered not at all.

The children had wakened and Marianne asked, alarmed, What’s wrong, Mom?.

Your father’s been shot, Desiree snapped, tearing her nightgown off over her head.

Marianne jumped up, wringing her hands. Mama, what’ll we do?" The other two girls were crying. Juney was stirring in his cot.

He’s not dead! I said shot, not killed! Desiree said impatiently.

Louise packed Desiree’s make-up case as her mother dressed, and hung her pocketbook over her shoulder as she slammed out.

Ted had the car waiting. As they pulled onto the highway Desiree began rummaging in her make-up bag, cursing and sobbing softly.

Ted was only dimly aware that Desiree was taking pills. A half hour later, her eyes dilated and teary, she started talking. The stupid son of a bitch! I’ve told him he’d get it one of these days if he kept moving bodies around for those goons, but nooooo, he doesn’t listen to me. He only listens to his goddamned father. She took a breath and smiled damply, shifting gears, Poor Waldo. I guess I haven’t been the best wife but I’ve done the best I could, God knows! What if he dies before I get there? They said he’s shot in the gut. What did poor Waldo do to deserve that? she asked.

Ted, unnerved by her sudden confidences, groped for conversation. Mrs. D’Amico, why don’t you tell me all the happy times in your life. Maybe it’ll help you feel better.

This was a technique his mother often employed when one of the children complained about school or their current living arrangements. Serena had always called it sappy, and scornfully refused to participate, but Desiree loosed a flood of confidences.

Waldo’s a honey when it comes to providing. Couldn’t ask for better. He’d never skimp on me and the kids the way some people do. She cut a glance at Ted and he knew she meant his father. Each of my girls has her own little TV and fur coat. Neat stuff falls off trucks everyday and Waldo gets his share. We never lack for nothing. She shook a little bottle of pills at him. And I always have plenty of these babies. Desiree pushed her hair back from her face and laughed. "Wait till you hear this… this year when we started for camp – you remember how late we got in that first night? Well, I’d been packing all day and everybody was on my nerves… anyway, we were almost an hour away from home, the girls were asleep in the back of the van and Juney started saying, ‘We forgot the baby, we forgot the baby,’ he was kinda singin’ it like he does. Nobody was paying any attention to him and he kept it up and just when I was about to smack him, I realized it was true! I forgot the goddamn baby!

Waldo was furious. He whipped that van around, jumped the median on the Garden State Parkway, up and down, up and down. She bounced violently in her seat, If a cop had seen us we would’ve ended up in jail. I was laughin’ so hard I almost peed myself. The girls woke up, Waldo was yelling at everybody. That’s just like Waldo, no sense of humor. He was speeding. When we got close to home I tried to slow him down but he was wild. When we got to the house he yelled at us to stay in the car. Juney was still singing, ‘We forgot the baby.’ I coulda’ killed him… She clutched Ted’s arm, You know what he’s like if you belt him one?"

Ted nodded. Sure, he screams like a siren. But don’t grab me, we could have an accident.

Hey, guys don’t tell me hands off! Desiree laughed but returned to her story, Well, it was just like I said, he found the baby asleep in his crib, sweet as can be. Never knew we’d left him. Waldo stayed mad for a while though. He never did have a sense of humor.

After a while Desiree slept. Ted concentrated on making his connection with I-95 North and was startled when she spoke again. Men always think they know everything. With Waldo it’s what’s good for the kids. With some other guys, it’s other stuff, like… sex.

Ted felt a thrill of alarm. For two years he had watched Desiree with the tennis coach at camp and spied on them when they locked themselves in the equipment shed. It wasn’t the strenuous activity of the two sweating bodies that shocked him but the unfairness of his mother’s dutiful supervision of both her own and Desiree’s children at the swimming pool. Now, pensively, as if talking to herself, Desiree described at length a friend Ted immediately suspected was his father. When she fell back to sleep he sighed with relief. He was reluctant to wake her when, having found his way over the George Washington Bridge, he needed directions to the hospital.

The brittle tension of the emergency room jarred Desiree from lethargy to action. She demanded to see her husband. A nurse took her arm, shushing. Mr. D’Amico is in the recovery room. I’ll get the Doctor.

Ted collapsed into a plastic chair. His head was full of images of abandoned babies, the D’Amico’s van full of dead bodies, leering goons, and the pitiful Mr. D’Amico, gut-shot. His hands shook. The elderly man slumped beside him, snoring loudly, suddenly sat up.

Yo, Desiree, ya finally got here, he rasped, rooting for a cigarette. Desiree whirled around.

You old bastard! You almost got your son killed with your dirty business, Desiree hissed into the old man’s face.

Nah. I had nothing to do with it! Some broad shot him. The old man waved her away imperiously and shook his cigarette pack at Ted. Have a smoke, sonny, it’ll help ya with the shakes.

Ted accepted the cigarette. Waves of exhaustion ran through him. His body ached with tension.

What’re you talkin’ about? Some broad? Desiree’s voice was rising. What broad?

They don’t know, the old man said tiredly. She didn’t give a name.

The nurse came back with a gray-faced doctor. Mrs. D’Amico? the doctor asked.

Desiree’s head turned from her father-in-law to the doctor. Desiree transformed into the grieving wife. Hands clasped prayerfully, she asked. Will he make it, Doc? You can tell me the truth.

The young doctor rubbed his eyes. Yes, Mrs. D’Amico, he’s going to live. It was a dangerous wound. Fortunately, your husband is in good health and, in this case, his obesity helped him. He began to describe the wound but Desiree clutched his wrist. When can I see him, Doctor?

Desiree rocked up and down on her toes as the elevator hummed upward. She and Dr. D’Amico stood as far from each other as possible, Ted felt like a buffer for their mutual hostility. He blinked as they emerged into the entirely white world of the Intensive Care Unit. The nurses’ station was circular and commanded a view into each room. Patients were hooked up to tubes, bottles, monitors; machinery breathed and chugged. Desiree spotted Waldo’s bulk and, weeping, hurled herself toward his room.

A nurse restrained her. Quietly. Calmly, Mrs. D’Amico. To Dr. D’Amico she suggested deferentially that they take turns being with Waldo.

Nah, let the wife stay with him, Dr. D’Amico waved her away and turned to Ted, Listen, kid, he isn’t gonna die. Trust me. If he was gonna die he would’ve done it on the table. I’m going home. Can’t smoke here. If there’s any change they’ll call me.

Ted dozed on the hard wooden bench, jerking awake frequently, only to doze again. Some men came. Detectives. They conferred in whispers with the nurse. She went into Waldo’s room and Desiree came out.

Is your husband awake yet, Mrs. D’Amico? The taller, darker man asked, flashing his badge.

No, Desiree snapped, What do you guys want anyway?

We want to know who shot him so we can arrest the person, the slightly built Irishman answered.

"His father said a woman shot him,’ Desiree said.

That might be true, the Irishman said, A woman called and said she’d shot him. When we got to your house no one was there but your husband and he was unconscious. We have no weapon or motive.

My house! Desiree shrilled, He got shot in my house! I’ll kill him.

This is no time for threats, the tall, dark cop said, Where were you last night?

I was in Pennsylvania. I drove all night to get here, that’s where I was! Desiree was working herself up to a tantrum.

Shaking their heads in disgust, the two detective went into Waldo’s room. He was only beginning to stir and still had a tube down his throat. Discouraged, the cops went away. Ted dozed off and awoke to find a small dark girl sobbing beside him. Through the door of Waldo’s room, he could see Desiree’s back. She was talking steadily to Waldo.

Are you Ted? the girl asked.

Ted nodded sleepily, "Who are you?’

I’m Loretta, the babysitter. I help out Mr. D’Amico. When Marianne has school stuff I take care of the little ones. Loretta confided. Joanne talks about you all the time. You look just like your school picture, only taller and more… cute. She took a ragged breath. I shot him.

Ted glanced quickly to see that Desiree’s back was still turned. Why?

Because I… love him, Loretta sobbed.

Oh. After a moment Ted asked, Did you want to kill him?

Oh, yes! Loretta hiccupped. I was aiming at his heart but the first bullet hurt him so bad I couldn’t do it again. Is he going to live?

His father thinks so.

Is he here? Loretta half-rose, her small hands spread in alarm.

He went home a while ago. But there were police here looking for information, he warned her.

Oh, I’m going to turn myself in as soon as I’m sure he’s okay, Loretta confided matter-of-factly. Listen, why don’t I buy you a cup of coffee. You look wiped out. Ted glanced again in Desiree’s direction. I’ll tell you all about it, she promised.

Ted looked up and down the corridor. Used to the ways of girls and their confidences, he agreed out of habit. Okay, but let me tell Mrs. D’Amico I’ll be gone a while.

I’ll wait for you at the elevator, Loretta whispered, slipping away.

Ted tiptoed into the sick room. Waldo had tubes in his nose and one down his throat. His eyes were open and he blinked when he saw Ted. I’m going for coffee, Ted told Desiree, You want anything?

Bring me back a coke.

In the cafeteria Ted held his coffee cup against his chest and stared across the scarred Formica table at Loretta. She was delicate, the size of his sister Angela,. How old are you? he asked.

Twenty-five. She dropped her chin and swiped at her nose with a paper napkin.

You don’t look it.

Thanks. She pushed her hands into her hair, veiling her face with thick, brown curls, and looked up at him from under her eyelashes. It was an eerie imitation of Desiree. I guess you want to know how all this happened.

"If you feel like telling