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"
Love
you
too
,
babe
.
"
He
glanced
at
the
bookcase
,
and
there
was
Troutman
,
right
where
he
had
been
all
along
.
Louis
put
his
hand
on
the
textbook
.
"
Church
brought
a
rat
into
the
house
while
you
and
Ellie
were
gone
,
"
she
said
and
tried
to
smile
.
"
Yuck
,
what
a
mess
.
"
"
Jeez
,
Rachel
,
I
'm
sorry
.
"
He
hoped
he
did
not
sound
as
guilty
as
,
at
that
moment
,
he
felt
.
"
It
was
bad
?
"
Rachel
sat
down
on
the
stairs
.
In
her
pink
flannel
nightgown
,
her
face
cleaned
of
makeup
and
her
forehead
shining
,
her
hair
tied
back
into
a
short
ponytail
with
a
rubber
band
,
she
looked
like
a
child
.
"
I
took
care
of
it
,
"
she
said
,
"
but
do
you
know
,
I
had
to
beat
that
dumb
cat
out
the
door
with
the
vacuum
cleaner
attachment
before
it
would
stop
guarding
the
...
the
corpse
.
It
growled
at
me
.
Church
never
growled
at
me
before
in
his
life
.
He
seems
different
lately
.
Do
you
think
he
might
have
distemper
or
something
,
Lou
?
"
"
No
,
"
Louis
said
slowly
,
"
but
I
'll
take
him
to
the
vet
,
if
you
want
.
"
"
I
guess
it
's
all
right
,
"
she
said
and
then
looked
at
him
nakedly
.
"
But
would
you
come
up
?
I
just
...
I
know
you
're
working
,
but
...
"
"
Of
course
,
"
he
said
,
getting
up
as
though
it
were
nothing
important
at
all
.
And
,
really
,
it
was
n't
--
except
he
knew
that
now
the
letter
would
never
be
written
because
the
parade
has
a
way
of
moving
on
,
and
tomorrow
would
bring
something
new
.
But
he
had
bought
that
rat
,
had
n't
he
?
The
rat
that
Church
had
brought
in
,
surely
clawed
to
bloody
ribbons
,
its
intestines
dragging
,
its
head
perhaps
gone
.
Yes
.
He
had
bought
it
.
It
was
his
rat
.
"
Let
's
go
to
bed
,
"
he
said
,
turning
off
the
lights
.
He
and
Rachel
went
up
the
stairs
together
.
Louis
put
his
arm
around
her
waist
and
loved
her
the
best
he
could
...
but
even
as
he
entered
into
her
,
hard
and
erect
,
he
was
listening
to
the
winterwhine
outside
the
front-traced
windows
,
wondering
about
Church
,
the
cat
that
used
to
belong
to
his
daughter
and
now
belonged
to
him
,
wondering
where
it
was
and
what
it
was
stalking
or
killing
The
soil
of
a
man
's
heart
is
stonier
,
he
thought
,
and
the
wind
sang
its
bitter
black
song
,
and
not
so
many
miles
distant
,
Norma
Crandall
,
who
had
once
knitted
his
daughter
and
son
matching
caps
,
lay
in
her
gray
steel
American
Eternal
coffin
on
a
stone
slab
in
a
Mount
Hope
crypt
;
by
now
the
white
cotton
the
mortician
would
have
used
to
stuff
her
cheeks
would
be
turning
black
.
