123

Cammaratta giggled like a demented schoolgirl and it was at that moment that Lara knew he was insane. "Okay, then, Cam. I gotta go. Seven in the morning gets earlier every day," she said, chuckling like she agreed what he thought was funny really was.

Cam sighed, his face still grinning on the surface. "No, you don't."

A tingle passed into Lara's belly. "No, I don't what?"

"No you're not leaving." Cammaratta's wooden desk chair squeaked backwards on its metal rollers as he pulled his feet off John's body and straightened.

122

She felt her jaw being stroked. She was in pain, but the gentle touch pulled her away from the agony of the bullet in her belly. She felt her hair pushed back from her face and was grateful, but unable to say so. Who... the thought was crushed by her insides hiccuping, cramping and squeezing. Someone grabbed her hand and she squeezed it against the pain. She realized, in a detached way, that she could hear voices and, distantly, a siren. Where had she been? What had just happened? Who was now speaking to her in deep, soothing tones? Why couldn't she understand him?

121

Take the chicken, he said. He said. Well, I didn't take no galldang chicken, and where did that land me? Where? In the whohaw. Right in the whohaw. That galldang chicken I never took, and he knows it. He's gone to the grave with it now. To the grave. And ain't I glad? I'm glad. I'm glad.

120

He never went to the auditions; the lack of a daughter would be too obvious there. He only ever sat in on rehearsals, watching as the girls improved night after night, though some, invariably, never improved.

He sat right with the other proud dads, but unlike them, he never brought a Tom Clancy novel or the latest issue of Fly Fisherman or even a fancy phone. He watched. His favorite was "A Hard Knock Life," though "You're Never Fully Dressed" came in a close second.

Whenever any theatre company was putting on Annie, Harper was there. Unobtrusive in "dad jeans" and a flannel shirt or slightly worn out weekend polo.