"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 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. |
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