Michael Malone - Weebly

into her pumpkin pine four-poster canopied bed and
began to read Naked Lunch where she had left off two
nights ago.
chapter 21
In his study Winslow Abernathy read again his
wife's letter to his son. One flesh they were all supposed
to be. Yet Beanie had simply driven away. And Arthur
preferred to act as if nothing had happened. And
Lance, Lance who had revved his engine to a stop in
the driveway a few minutes ago, almost seemed to be
blaming Winslow for the loss of his mother. "Couldn't
you stop her? I mean, shit, Dad!"
Lance was now out in the old coach house in the
backyard, where at sixteen he had insisted on fashioning
out of attic furniture a bachelor hut. Naturally, Beanie
had let him do it. Why didn't he get a job? Maybe both
his sons were secretly gloating that their father had lost
his wife. She had always loved them best, called them
her little lovers, spoiled them irrecoverably, and they,
the snot-nosed pricks—good God, what was wrong
with him, why was he talking like this? Those couldn't