"Eddings, David - Regina's Song V2.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eddings David)

there was no sense of that "closure" social workers
babble about, because we couldn't be certain which girl
we were burying.
We didn't see very much of the boss at the door
factory that summer. Before he'd lost his daughters,
he'd usually come strolling through the yard a couple of
times a day. After the funeral, he stayed pretty much
holed up in his office.
In August of that year that I had an even more
personal tragedy. My folks had visited the Greenleafs
one Friday evening, and as they were on their way
home, they encountered what the cops refer to as a
"high-speed chase." A local drunk who'd had his driver's
license revoked after repeated arrests for "driving while
intoxicated" got himself all liquored up in a downtown
bar, and the cops spotted his car wandering around on
both sides of Colby Avenue, one of the main streets in
Everett. When the lush heard the siren and saw the red
light flashing behind him, he evidently remembered the
judge's warning when his license had been lifted. The
prospect of twenty years in the slammer evidently
scared the hell out of him, so he stomped on his gas
pedal. The cops gave chase, of course, and it was
estimated that the drunk was going about ninety when
he ran a red light and plowed into my folks. All three of
them died in the crash.
I was completely out of it for a week or so, and Les
Greenleaf took over making the funeral arrangements,
attending to legal matters, and dealing with a couple of
insurance companies.
I'd already enrolled for my first quarter of grad school
that fall, but I called Dr. Conrad and asked him to put
me on hold until winter quarter. My dad had been
shrewd enough to buy mortgage insurance, so our
modest home in north Everett was now mine, free and
clear, and the life insurance policies covering both of my
parents gave me a chunk of cash. Les Greenleaf
suggested some investments, and I suddenly became a
capitalist. I don't imagine that I made Bill Gates very
nervous, but at least I'd be able to get through graduate
school without working for a living at the same time.
I'd have really preferred different circumstances,
though.
I kept my job at the door factory-not so much for the
wages as for something to keep me busy. Sitting at
home wallowing in grief wouldn't have been a very good
idea. I've noticed that guys who do that are liable to
start hitting the bottle. After what'd happened in August,
I wasn't too fond of drunks, or eager to join the ranks of
the perpetually sauced-up.