He wanted to ask her about her childhood, her marriage, her children, why she thought she could steal all that money, or what she thought might become...of her now. He had a hundred questions he wanted to ask, but the only thing that came out was, ‘I really like their broiled Salmon here. They have a great Hollandaise sauce.’ Sorrel didn’t look up. She was feeling funny, not happy funny, not uncomfortable funny, but sort adolescent funny. She was feeling like she was fifteen again. It frightened. “He’s a little sore from overuse, but he’ll recover.”“Why don’t your show her your back?” Lana suggested playfully.“What happened to your back?” Tricia asked, getting up and pulling at my shirt. “Let me see.”I stood up and took it off again, turning so she could see the scratches. “I haven’t seen them, but I think they look worse than they are,” I told her. “They don’t really hurt.”“She clawed the shit out of you,” Tricia said, tracing one of the scratches from the back of my neck diagonally. More

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