Ask the Cards a Question

Начало книги

I circled the block in my noisy old MG, senses alert and ready for action. Nothing.

Another block, and still another. My frustration deepened. I’d give anything for... a parking space!

With a clash of gears, the car and I hurtled backwards into the spot. At last, after five hours overtime and a twenty-five minute search for this space, I was free to walk four and a half blocks through the darkness to my apartment.

Still, it wasn’t a bad night for a walk. San Francisco weather was unpredictable in April, but this year we had had sun-washed days and mild evenings. I strolled toward Guerrero Street, the breeze banishing my aggravation.

Around the corner, red lights pulsated, their waves shattering the darkness. I stopped outside their range. Police cars. Crowds of onlookers. In front of my building. Panic shot through me, and I ran.

Linnea, I thought. Linnea. Shouldn’t have left her alone so long. Talked about suicide... a lot... since the divorce... all her drinking... God knows what kind of pills... my best friend... comes to me for help... I leave her alone... in there... drinking... day after day.

Читать дальше →