Chapter 3

           OnemorningafewdayslaterIenteredLydia’scourtyardasshewaswalkinginfromthealley.ShehadbeenovertoseeherfriendTinawholivedinanapartmenthouseonthecorner.Shelookedelectricthatmorning,muchlikethefirsttimeshehadcomeover,withtheorange.

           "Ooooh,"shesaid,"you’vegotonanewshirt!"

           Itwastrue.IhadboughttheshirtbecauseIwasthinkingabouther,aboutseeingher.Iknewthatsheknewthat,andwasmakingfunofme,yetIdidn’tmind.

           Lydiaunlockedthedoorandwewentinside.Theclaysatinthecenterofthebreakfastnooktableunderawetcloth.Shepulledtheclothoff."Whatdoyouthink?"

           Lydiahadn’tsparedme.Thescarswerethere,thealcoholicnose,themonkeymouth,theeyesnarrowedtoslits,andtherewasthedumb,pleasedgrinofahappyman,ridiculous,feelinghisluckandwonderingwhy.Shewas30andIwasover50.Ididn’tcare.

           "Yes,"Isaid,"you’vegotmedown.Ilikeit.Butitlooksalmostfinished.I’mgoingtobedepressedwhenit’sdone.Therehavebeensomegreatmorningsandafternoons."

           "Hasitinterferedwithyourwriting?"

           "No,Ionlywriteafteritgetsdark.Icanneverwriteintheday."

           Lydiapickeduphermodelingtoolandlookedatme."Don’tworry.Ihavealotmoreworktodo.Iwanttogetthisoneright."

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