Part 75 (1/2)

seemed to know how to behave around Brian, what questions to ask, what

questions to avoid. ”How's Bev?” he ventured.

”I don't know.” Remembering his cigarette, Brian plucked. it out from

among the b.u.t.ts. ”She won't say very much, won't go out at all.”

He let out smoke with a long, uneven sigh. When he looked at Pete there

was both a plea and defiance in his eyes. The same, Pete thought, as

there had been years before when Brian had come to him, asking for

management. ”Pete, she sits in Darren's room for hours at a time. Even

at night, sometimes I'll wake up and find her in there, just sitting in

that b.l.o.o.d.y rocking chair.” He took a swallow from his gla.s.s, then

another, deeper. ”I don't know what the h.e.l.l to do.”

”Have you thought of therapy?”

”You mean a psychiatrist?” Brian pushed away from the table. The ash

from his cigarette crumbled onto the rug. He was a simple man, from

simple people. Problems, private problems, were handled privately.

”What good would it do for her to talk about her s.e.x life and how she

hated her father or some b.l.o.o.d.y thing?”

”It's just an idea, Bri.” Pete reached out a hand, then dropped it to

the arm of his chair. ”Something to think about.”

”Even if I thought it might help, I don't know if I could get her to

agree.”

”Maybe she just needs a bit more time. It's only been a couple of

months.”

”He'd have been three last week. Oh, Jesus.”

Saying nothing, Pete rose to pour more whiskey into Brian's gla.s.s.

He handed it over, then eased Brian into a chair. ”Do you hear anything