The Good Son

Начало книги

T he phone rang at a little before one in the morning and I knew it was my mother. I didn’t even have to look at the number there on the little cell-phone screen, I just said, “Mom.”

Next to me, my not-really-girlfriend, Gloria, heaved over and jammed a pillow on her head and said nasty stuff about people calling in the middle of the night. I ignored this and added, “Anything wrong?”

My mother said, “No, of course not. Why do you always ask that when I call you?”

“Because that’s what people do when they get a call at one A.M. You forgot about the time zones again.”

“I didn’t forget. I thought soldiers always rose at dawn.”

“When they’re on duty,” I said, “which I’m not. I’m at Gloria’s place. What’s up?”

“I’m at Heathrow on a plane for Zurich. I’ll be gone for a couple of weeks. Could you tell your father?”

“Why don’t you tell him yourself? I think they still have phone service in the District of Columbia.”

Читать дальше →