Rite of Passage

By JoEllen Conger

Corrine is near exhaustion on the downward trail. Pausing for breath on an open ridge, she hears a strange, whistling sound. At first, she is unable to identify it. Anxiety rising, she whirls about and raises her eyes to the sky to see the she-eagle plummeting toward her. She doesn't know whether to expect a greeting or an attack. She only knows she mustn't run.The wind from the eagle's strong beating wings whips her hair wildly about her face. The bird, its talons raised, its ear-splitting scream terrifying her, Corrine nearly faints before the spirit of her native American husband raises protective arms above her to return the bird's salutation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9781590883532

Book preview

Dedication

This story is dedicated to all women who feel they can’t make it on their own, but find the courage and the stamina deep within themselves to face life and live it to its fullest.

One

Corrine woke with a start. Today was the day. She glanced at the bedside clock. Its luminous face indicated it was only five o’clock. The sun had not yet brightened the chill morning sky.

With a yawn, she rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. I have to save this house. It’s the only home the boys have ever known. Where would they live if I lost it? We could always return to the Indian reservation, she realized. Paul’s family still lives there. But because Paul had decided to make his way in the world, she had never truly considered it as an option. Not even after his untimely death.

With a sigh, Corrine wished Paul was still there to direct her, to instruct her how he wanted his wishes carried out. Over the years she had grown so dependent upon his guidance, his custom of making all their decisions, that she no longer had the volition to blaze a trail on her own.

She knew she’d been a good wife, obediently following his lead. He’d been raised in the old Indian traditions, where the man was the head of the household. And woman, in her role as wife, honored that. She and the boys had wanted for nothing while he lived. He had definitely fulfilled his vow to the Law of the Eagle as an honored member of the Eagle Warriors. His father, Chief Running Elk, could be proud of him.

Paul is a fabulous wildlife photographer—had been—had been, she corrected herself. She’d never had to wonder if the bills would be paid, or could they buy something they wanted, or if they’d have a nice place to live. He’d dutifully supplied it all.

But this time. This time, I’ll have to do it all by myself. With a deep sigh, she replayed the phone conversation in her mind, remembering how disciplined and businesslike she had sounded. I don’t think the editor even knew how scared I was, she clucked, proud of herself for carrying it off so well.

She’d successfully negotiated a series of feature articles with photos, if she could get her material in by the deadline. That had been scary enough, but she had had to guarantee new footage. Writing the articles would be easy, but shooting the new film meant a long, hard trek into the northern park’s back woods—alone; she had no choice. The nesting pair of golden eagles would never accept a stranger near the nest site. Not while they were raising chicks.

No matter how scary going up the mountain by herself would be, she couldn’t blow this assignment. It was the only way she’d thought of to earn the money needed to satisfy the mortgage’s balloon payment.

The boys are depending on me.

When she ran her hands over her abdomen and thighs, dread filled her. She hadn’t maintained the hard physique necessary for such a rigorous climb. Without Paul’s support, his encouragement, and his love and companionship, the mountain seemed an overpowering adversary, not to mention the challenge of meeting the eagles face to face without him. But no matter what, she knew she had to climb the mountain. No memories, no ghosts, could stand in the way. She bit her lip as she reflected, her hesitation growing heavier with each passing moment.

Oh come on, girl, she prodded herself, it’s time to get this show on the road. There’re things to do. It’s going to be a busy day.

Stretching, she yawned again, listening intently to hear if the boys were awake yet. She not only had to get the boys ready to take the church bus to camp, but get herself ready to drive to the mountain cabin. Last night, she thought she’d never get the boys to bed. The anticipation of going off to summer camp for a week had kept them too hyped to fall asleep.

She threw back the coverlet and set her feet onto the cold, hard floor. A furry bundle bounced around the end of the bed, his bark greeting her.

Oh, Corky, you’re so funny. She smiled in spite of her melancholy. The animated dust mop barked again and scampered into the hall.

Okay. Okay. I know, it’s breakfast time. Corrine shuffled into her slippers and reached for her robe. I’ll have to feed that dog and get the kids ‘motating’ before I can pack for the trip, she decided, padding down the hall.

Corky raced ahead of her, his tongue lolling happily. He skidded to a stop and raced back as Corrine turned into the bathroom. With a quick glance at her disheveled, honey-colored hair, Corrine raked a brush through its tangles and reached for her toothbrush.

Corky! Let go of my slipper! Corrine demanded.

He scuffled her slipper just out of reach.

Corky! Come on, Corky! Leaving her toothbrush on the sink, Corrine tracked the animal down the hallway. You little scamp! she scolded.

Unabashed, Corky pranced ahead of her, brandishing the slipper proudly. With a quick lunge Corrine snagged the slipper from Corky’s mouth. He barked, his jaws snapping as he missed his chance to reclaim his prize. Oh no you don’t, you...you big tease.

Corrine pressed her foot back into her slipper before the animal could claim it again.

Striding into the kitchen, Corrine ran water for coffee. Corky whined.

Will ya just wait a minute? she scolded, scooping coffee grounds into the coffee maker. First things first, Corky. You have to understand a person’s priorities, she explained to the impatient animal. Corky whined again, padding his feet on the tile floor.

So all right, I’m coming! Poking the brew basket into place, she poured the water into the top of the coffee maker and, turning toward the refrigerator, pulled out the opened can of dog food. Don’t jump! Just wait a minute.

She plopped a serving into Corky’s dish. Stop jumping! she scolded again, carrying the bowl to the service porch and setting it on the floor. After all that, she admonished, stepping back from the dish, you’d better eat it.

The eager animal dove into the bowl. For all her cross words, she was very fond of the little ragamuffin. Ah, she thought watching him eat, if life could only be so simple.

Two

Corrine filled the washing machine again with a load of the boys’ clothes, and threw a cup of soap in after them. She slammed the lid shut, gathered the hot towels she had just removed from the dryer, and carried them to the kitchen to fold, walking past her ten-year-old, Steven. He was a slight boy, with blue eyes nearly as green-flecked as her own. He was very much his mother’s son, she realized as she watched him pouring milk over a bowl of dry cereal.

Wearily, she pushed a lock of her long hair off her forehead. Bracing her slender form against the counter base, she pulled the first bath towel free and folded it, then reached for a second.

Without turning from her task, she spoke over her shoulder. Steven, can I fix you something else?

The boy shook his head.

It’s going to be a long day, she continued. Sure you wouldn’t like some eggs, or something? she asked again, still keeping her eyes on her folding project.

Steven only shook his head again, and quietly began to eat. She worried about him. Since his father’s death, he had become nearly mute. The psychologist had called it a form of repressed grief. Corrine knew she ought to be doing something more to help her son work through it, but she wasn’t sure just how.

As he placed his bowl into the dishwasher, she stopped folding towels and scooped him into her arms. Automatically, he curled his slender arms over hers and hugged her as she kissed the nape of his neck, growling softly into his ear. He gave her his usual warm, crooked smile, but still did not speak. She released him, ruffling her fingers through his sandy-colored hair.

Still grinning, Steven squatted to rumple Corky. Barking, the animal jumped up to lavish the boy’s face with a myriad of wet kisses. Corrine shook her head. Ah, how I love the both of you. You brighten my days.

Troy, her five-year-old, stumbled into the kitchen, yawning. His raven black hair stuck out in unbrushed tangles, and his dark brown eyes still drooped with sleep. Even with his pajama buttons mismatched, he looked like his father. The dark-skinned, Cheyenne good looks were unmistakable. Just watching Troy grow up constantly affirmed her deep love for his father.

She rolled her eyes heavenward and kissed the top of his shaggy head. Why do I love you so much? You’re impossible. He was as independent as his father, always wanting to do things himself, his own way. She wondered if that was a Cheyenne trait, or just his father’s. Before she could help him with the cereal, he stood on his chair to reach across the table.

Troy, wait! she commanded. Get your feet off the furniture! Had you asked, I would have helped you!

Undaunted, Troy grabbed up the cereal box and cascaded the flakes into his bowl and up over the rim where they flooded onto the tabletop. Darting a glance in her direction, he grimaced as he tried to sweep the scattered flakes to the floor.

Stop it, Troy! Corrine growled with annoyance, pulling him away from the table. Just wait! She released her grip. Sit! she commanded, waiting for his body to mold itself to the shape of the chair. When Troy was seated, she folded her hands about his as he persisted in reaching for the cereal box. Speaking more calmly but firmly, Corrine said, No! She set the box out of his reach. You know you can’t eat that much.

Corky appeared under the table, his nails clacking against the Asphalt-tile. His tongue flicking, he munched the spilled cereal. He had volunteered as the family’s four-legged, clean-up sweeper from the first day he’d come into their lives. With Troy’s dogged determination, it seemed that Corky had a perpetual job as the mop-up detail.

Exasperated, Corrine scooped hands full of dry cereal back into the container, then poured a portion of the bowl’s contents back into the box as well, before reaching for the milk.

Troy squirmed in his chair, maneuvering himself so he could hold his small hand over hers as she poured. No! No! No! she fumed. Behave yourself.

She knew he was impatient to be as grown up as the other two boys. She understood that, but at times her patience wore thin. He was a precocious child. If only— She thought. If only there was a man in the house to direct his energy. A living, breathing daddy-man might make a difference.

While she was constraining Troy, Mark, her middle son, came bouncing into the kitchen. He had his father’s good looks, but not his coal-black hair. Her seven-year-old was a human dynamo, so hyperactive that she sometimes wished she had half his energy. He grabbed up the cereal box and poured his own, then happily hoisted the milk to pour it himself. Troy grabbed at the carton. Milk sloshed onto the table, dripping to the floor.

Stop it! Corrine ordered, taking the container away from both of them. Now look what you’ve done!

Not me, Mark pouted. Troy did it!

Un-huh! Troy denied, pouting. He grabbed up his spoon and shoveled a big spoonful of cereal into his mouth, chewing noisily. His eyes defied anyone to find fault with him.

With her hand on her hip in exasperation, Corrine set the milk out of their reach. If Paul were only here, she groaned to herself. Maybe he could keep them from squabbling all the time.

Oh for heaven’s sake, just eat! she commanded. Her authoritative finger jabbed toward Mark’s chest before she whirled to go for the mop. Softening her voice, she pleaded, Come on, guys, I know you’re excited about going to church camp today, but I need your help to get ready. So please don’t fight. Okay?

Corky had finished snuffling up the cereal under the table and was lapping at the spilled milk. Corrine took a deep breath and waited for the little rag-a-muffin to finish his part of the cleanup. When he finally turned away, licking his chops, she mopped the area clean.

The dryer buzzed again. Corrine carried the mop out to the laundry room and gathered up another armload of hot clothing. Dumping them onto the kitchen counter, she began to fold them, separating them into three stacks, one for each child.

Hello, called a friendly voice at the back door, breaking her mood. It was her neighbor and long-term friend, Susan. The pudgy, young blonde eased herself into the kitchen, bringing with her the aroma of freshly baked apples.

Come on in, Corrine called over her shoulder. Pour yourself some coffee. Me too, I could use a break! She punctuated her remark by patting the neat stacks of clothing.

Susan put down her plate of apple turnovers to fill two cups with coffee.

Just thought I’d spoil you a little before you left, she commented, carrying their hot drinks and morning temptation to the table.

Really, Susan! Corrine exclaimed, shaking her head. I don’t know where you get the time to bake with all you have to do.

Well, it’s not all that hard, Susan joked with a grin. You just have to lock the kids in the closet.

"Sometimes, I’d like to really do that myself," Corrine confided.

Troy had finished his ‘mess making’ and skipped out of the kitchen with Corky trotting beside him.

Troy, get some clothes on before you go outdoors, Corrine yelled after the youngster. He changed his direction, disappearing down the hall to his bedroom.

Mark dawdled in his milk, swirling it around the bowl, then dripping it off his spoon.

Enough! Corrine barked. Go play!

With a grin, he obeyed, hippity-hopping until he disappeared out the back door. Corrine heard the dog yelp. Poor Corky, trampled underfoot again.

Susan opened her mouth to comment. Instead, she sipped her coffee, savoring its flavor. Corrine picked up the remaining dishes and stuffed them unceremoniously into the dishwasher, then returned with a dishcloth to wipe the table.

How is it going? Susan asked with a smile as she chose a chair and sat down. She sipped her coffee again.

Oh, groan! Corrine exclaimed as she threw herself down into a chair across the table from Susan. If you only knew. Automatically, she reached for a pastry and bit into it, delighted by its tangy flavor. Those kids are so excited about going to camp, I just might not survive getting them ready.

The two mothers laughed together, knowing the children’s joy was half the fun of sending them.

Well, I just wish my kids were old enough to go, complained Susan. No distractions, no interruptions. M-m-m-m. It sure wouldn’t take Larry and me long to decide how to party. If you know what I mean. Susan smirked with a flirty lift of an eyebrow.

Oh, Susan! Corrine exclaimed, a bit shocked by the younger woman’s open confession.

And how about you? continued Susan, undaunted by her neighbor’s astonishment. Are you ready to head to your photo assignment? Susan teased, blowing on her coffee to cool it.

Well, yeah, sure. Almost, admitted Corrine, shrugging a shoulder. It’s been so long since I’ve gone anywhere without the kids. I hardly know how to go about it.

They laughed again, then sighed, comfortable in their friendship. After a short, soundless pause Susan continued, It’s about time! You haven’t done anything special for yourself since Paul died.

I know, Corrine confessed. I just couldn’t bring myself to leave the boys. She shrugged again apologetically.

Baloney! scolded Susan. That’s baloney and you know it. You were afraid you’d meet somebody new, and you wouldn’t know how to handle it. Right? The two gazed levelly at each other, Susan’s eyes boring Corrine’s. Right?

Guilty, Corrine acknowledged, dropping her gaze, spreading her hands to indicate the subject was closed before she looked away.

So, continued Susan brightly, do you have all your cameras packed and ready? You know, did you buy plenty of film and battery packs, and all that stuff?

Yes, Mother, Corrine retorted with an affected grin. They both laughed again.

Let me feed the boys lunch, offered Susan. Will that help?

Would it! exclaimed Corrine. Then maybe I can shake this house together before I leave.

I don’t understand why you want to clean house before you go, exclaimed Susan, wagging her head. It’ll still be here when you get back.

That’s exactly what I’m afraid of, Corrine groaned. I wouldn’t want to come back to this mess.

For a moment, they just sat sipping coffee and nibbling the fresh apple pastries.

You know, Corrine confided, this assignment really scares me. She could feel her stomach knotting again just thinking about it.

Why? blurted Susan in surprise. Your photography is outstanding. And, after all, your wildlife techniques were taught to you by the very best. You couldn’t have had a better teacher than Paul.

Corrine twiddled with her cup to cover her embarrassment. Susan always has a way of calling a spade a spade.

You know, Susan began, a major publisher wouldn’t have offered you that kind of money if he didn’t think you could provide them with the kind of material they need. Not just anyone can take pictures of wild eagles nesting. I mean, you already know the mountain above your cabin. And you and Paul were the only people who ever worked with that pair of eagles. Know what I mean?

Corrine nodded agreement slowly. I know, Corrine rationalized, but my pictures were never as right-on as Paul’s. What they really want is Paul’s work.

Well, listen to you, Susan chided. That sounds more like self-pity to me than modesty. She placed her empty cup on the table.

Corrine rose stiffly and turned her back to Susan, pretending to refill her cup. She couldn’t bear for Susan to see the tears welling up in her eyes. The comment had struck too close to home.

Susan wasn’t fooled; she rose quickly and put her arms around her friend, placing her cheek against Corrine’s back. They stood quietly for a moment, reading each other’s thoughts, sharing the memory of the grief and the consoling words, which had been shared so many times since the tragedy.

Gotta get home, Susan declared gaily as though nothing had happened between them. Larry’s watching the kids. Phone us when you get there. Okay? Susan yelled back over her shoulder as she retreated through the back door.

Okay! Corrine looked up as the back door banged again. Troy, what do you have in your hand? she asked.

I’m gonna take my pet to camp, he informed her, holding out a capped jar.

What do you have? Show me. She knelt beside her smallest child. Taking the jar, she looked inside at the hapless lizard. What happened to its tail?

Oh, it comed off.

Your daddy wouldn’t be very happy if he knew you’d hurt one of God’s little creatures.

We-e-ell, I didn’t mean to. It just happened.

Do you realize he’ll die if you keep him in this jar?

No. Troy looked at her with big, innocent eyes.

Well, he needs air and the right kind of food to stay alive, she explained. He wasn’t created to live in a jar. How did you plan to take care of him?

Troy shrugged. Corrine studied her youngest son. It isn’t that he intends to be cruel, she realized. If Paul were alive, he’d have taught the boys to respect animals’ rights to life. Her guilt niggled at her. I should have spent more time instructing the boys in the old Indian beliefs and customs.

I can’t let you take him, sweetheart. You’ll have to let him go.

Why?

Corrine wrapped an arm about her son. Don’t you understand? If you intend to become an Eagle Warrior like your daddy and your uncles and your grandpa, you can’t do things that kill. It’s against the Law of the Eagle. I gave an oath when I married your daddy not to take life unnecessarily. So, I can’t let you do it either.

Will the Great Spirit be mad at me? Troy wondered.

He might be, I don’t know, Corrine considered. Maybe he’d just be very unhappy. He doesn’t create all these wonderful things for us to hurt. We have to learn how to enjoy them where they live.

There was a long pause while Troy thought.

If you let him go in the backyard, Corrine instructed, he’ll still be there when you get back, and you’ll be able to play with him again.

Okay! Troy took the jar. Whirling on his toes, he ran out the back door, letting it slam behind him.

Corrine sighed. It’d be so much easier, Paul, if you were here to teach the boys. I should have had the boys spend more time with their grandfather. Chief Running Elk would like that, I’m sure. Nodding her head in agreement with her inner counsel, she decided to see to it when she returned from her trip.

CORRINE FINALLY HAD the boys’ clothes folded and ready to put into their separate duffel bags. Steven was her finicky nitpicker, so she carefully packed his things first, making sure that the towels lay straight and his socks were separate from his underwear. She carefully wrapped his toothbrush in a piece of Handi-wrap, smiling about his exacting ways. He’ll grow up to make some woman a lovely husband, she mused. He’ll probably insist on doing the housework himself.

She carried Steven’s duffel bag to the front hall and placed it by the door. Steven had already seen to it that the boys’ sleeping bags were there. Each had his own name lettered on the end to eliminate any proprietary squabbles before they started. Her own, much larger sleeping bag stood nearest the door.

Returning to the kitchen to pack the next bag, Corrine was startled to see Troy hard at work. Damn it! I could just thrash you! She took a quick, deep breath to control her anger.

He had taken his clothes off the counter and wadded them into his duffel bag, then crawled into the bag himself. Sitting atop his rumpled clothing, he gathered Corky into his lap.

Zip me up, Mom, Troy chortled, I’m ready!

Corky barked, wiggling in his excitement.

Out! Corrine snapped impatiently. Her eyes narrowed as she took another deep breath, pressing her temples with long tapered fingers. Get out! she ordered again more calmly, catching hold of Troy’s arm and bodily extracting him from the bag.

Corky leaped free, scampering wildly in circles, his nails clattering on the tile floor. Barking, he shook himself, eager to be a part of the game, whatever it was. Troy’s clothing scattered to the floor. With happy abandon, Corky sprang up to lick Troy’s chubby face. Troy giggled and wiggled as he fended off Corky with his free hand.

Corky! Be still! Corrine commanded. She placed the chortling child to one side, then stooped to pick up the scattered clothing. Not bothering to refold them, she stuffed them back into the duffel bag and zipped it closed with a jerk.

Obviously the boy had dressed himself. His tee shirt was on inside out, his play shorts twisted. One shoe was missing. She stripped his shirt off over his head and turned it right side out, then fed it back over his outstretched arms and pulled it down.

All right, young man, she snapped, where is your other shoe?

Fending off Corky’s joyous lappings, Troy shrugged indifferently.

Corky! No! Corrine corrected crossly.

Where? she demanded again, raising her hand as though to strike him. Troy giggled, unaffected by her threat.

Where? she demanded once again, her voice more threatening.

Undaunted, Troy happily pointed to the duffel bag. She shook her head as he unzipped the bag and began pulling everything out onto the floor until he came to the shoe, which lay at the very bottom of the bag. He grabbed it up to show her, and grinned triumphantly as if he had just won a major award.

You put everything back in, Troy! she ordered, pointing sternly. Put everything back into that bag yourself! she repeated in her frustration as he began the task. Let the camp counselors think whatever they want, she consoled herself. Who cares! She helped him pull the zipper closed by putting her hands on either side of the bag, forcing it closed, then jabbed a pointed finger toward the front hall. Troy happily galloped away, his duffel bag bumping his legs, his shoe dangling from his mouth by the shoestring. She shook her head again, but turned to pack Mark’s bag without a word.

The last bag packed, she carried it to the front hall. She discovered Mark and Troy perched atop one of the sleeping bags, giggling while they rolled it with their feet, each trying to unseat the other.

Why don’t the two of you take the bags out to the car? she managed to say in a controlled voice. Get Steven to help you. Okay? Corrine shook her head as the two boys tumbled out the front door to find their older brother.

WITH THE BOYS’ PACKING done, Corrine returned to her bedroom. Collecting her last minute toiletries into a cosmetic bag, she zipped it closed. The house was suddenly quiet, and she realized it must be noon. Susan would be feeding the boys. What a blessing!

Changing quickly to Levis, a western shirt, and a down-filled vest, Corrine hurried into her darkroom. She crossed the room to open the large folding doors, exposing the cupboard shelves. She and Paul had formed the habit of conducting an examination routine each time just before they left on assignment, even when they were quite sure everything was in order, and she found herself automatically following their checkout procedure now. Many times it had saved them from getting into the field without their special plastic covers or the necessary lens filters.

She zipped her camcorder into its protective case. Then she added the tripod with its additional extension legs, and put the cameras and film packs for each camera into water protective bags. She then fitted them into her backpack, methodically rechecking herself. Then lifting the portable, wooden developing case to the table, she opened it to check the chemical supplies, counted the trays, and checked the protective gloves before she snapped it shut and set it by the door. Thank goodness I won’t need to carry it up the mountain, she thought. It’s much too heavy for that kind of portage. When she had finished, she carried her equipment and wardrobe bags into the front hall; the boys’ things were gone.

Returning to the kitchen, Corrine found a sandwich waiting on the table.

Ah, thank you, Susan, she intoned, gratefully taking a big bite as she turned to the refrigerator for a drink. Corrine grabbed a cola, popped its top, and took a long drag. She continued to eat as she worked, taking a bite off her sandwich or a drink of her soda, each time she passed the table.

Finished with her preparations, Corrine checked her list.

Steve! she bellowed at the top of her voice. Steven! she shouted again.

The quiet boy appeared in the doorway.

Did you take Corky to Susan and Larry’s? she asked, turning to look at him. Steven nodded. Did you take enough dog food? she asked again with a quick glance over her shoulder. Steven nodded. Are you sure? she queried accusingly. Did you count them? Steve nodded again. Are all the bags in the car? The boy nodded. And the sleeping bags? Another nod. How about my stuff? This time she turned to see his response, drying her hands on a towel.

All but your camera bags, Mom, he finally said aloud. I thought you’d want to do that yourself.

That’s all right, honey, I’m almost ready; you can put them in now. Just be careful, she nodded her head in approval. The boy disappeared.

Steven! she shouted again. When his sad face reappeared in the doorway, she continued in a normal voice. Please tell the boys to go to the bathroom. I’ll be out in two minutes. I want to check the house again before we go. She was adding soap to the dishwasher, and she punctuated her readiness by flipping it into action before starting her rounds of the house. She wanted to make a survey of the locks, the windows, and the lights. The circle completed, she lowered the thermostat as she came down the hall.

Corrine sighed deeply as she grabbed up her purse and threw the lock on the front door. She already knew she was running late before she gave a quick glance at her watch.

That bus better be running late, too, she exclaimed aloud to no one in particular.

She swore under her breath as she ran down the walk. The station wagon was loaded with all its doors standing open.

Close it up, Steve, let’s go! she called, throwing her purse onto the front seat. Steve crawled over the bags and dropped lightly off the tailgate to begin closing the doors.

She spotted Mark whirling and hopping up and down the driveway like a human pogo stick. Mark! Get in the car, now! she ordered. Or I’ll lock you up in the garage until we get back!

A large bear-shaped figure stepped through the hedge and captured Mark mid-hop. Tucking the child under one arm, he feigned an end run down the driveway and deposited the boy onto the back seat, closing the door quickly to constrain the hyperactive child. There was no doubting that this hulk played pro football. He turned and scooped Corrine into a bear hug and shook her playfully. Lighten up, girl, he’s just a little boy.

I know, Larry, Corrine finally lamented when she managed to free her face from his monstrous chest. Now, maybe I can get this show on the road.

Larry walked her around the car, engulfing her with his massive arm, opening the car door for her. "Susan and I want you to phone when