" He was staring
through the table now, the look he got when he was contemplating a
future the rest of them couldn't see. "But."
Alan waited. He was trembling inside. He'd done the right thing. He'd
saved his family. He knew that. But for six years, he'd found himself
turning in his memory to the little boy on the ground, holding the loops
of intestine in through slippery red fingers. For six years, whenever
he'd been somewhere quiet long enough that his own inner voices fell
still, he'd remember the hair in his fist, the knife's thirsty draught
as it drew forth the hot splash of blood from Davey's throat. He'd
remembered the ragged fissure that opened down Clarence's length and the
way that Davey fell down it, so light and desiccated he was almost
weightless.
"If you remember it, then you know I did the right thing. I did the only
thing."
"*We* did the only thing," Brian said, and covered Alan's hand with his.
Alan nodded and stared at his cheeseburger. "You'd better go catch up
with your friends," he said.
"I love you, Adam," he said.
"I love you, too."
Billy crossed the room, nodding to the people who greeted him from every
table, geeks and jocks and band and all the meaningless tribes of the
high school universe. The cute redhead sprinkled a wiggle-finger wave at
him, and he nodded at her, the tips of his ears going pink.
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