F. Michelle took out a Marlboro Light 100 from a secret stash on the inside of her pink neoprene jacket. “She thinks that Missy is trying to turn me into a punk or a Goth. Brendon,” she said, “if I could ask for advice, or borrow money from any one, I would from you—there! But I cannot. She had decided that she would begin with her pearl necklace. It was not in evidence here, not a sign of it. ‘You would read my mind?’ Gerald was pretty certain he already had, but he did not say so. “But, dear, think! He is your father. She looked upon it with pity as she drank his diabetic blood and saw that several of his fingers were missing. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea.
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