I said to the librarian, “Do you have the book ‘The English Patient’ by Michael Ondaatje.”He tried to pronounce the author’s name with no success. Bob and I started laughing as we left the library.Six months into my sentence, while Bob was reading a book, he put it down.He said to me. “The reason I am in here is that I killed my step-dad. He kept on beating my mum and also abusing my sister. They were too scared to do or say anything. Until one day I had enough, I did something about it by beating him to death with a baseball bat.”I looked up; he was just staring into space. That night I told him what happened to me. The lights went out. We talked until early morning. When we woke up after three hours of sleep, the first thing that Bob said to me was, “You need to start running again.”Since the last outburst during mom’s visit, she and dad would only come together, not missing one visitation date. They were scheduled to visit that weekend, as it was a sunny day we had the privilege of. His jeans and sweatshirt and the sports car suddenly reminded her of the happy days when his fraternity and her sorority had sponsored many social functions together. She and Bob were in the same class and had been the same age, but she had been in love with Kent who had graduated and already made a big success of himself in the business world. Or, at least she had thought she had been in love with him, she bitterly reminded herself as her thoughts jumped back to the present and Kent's heavy drinking and possible infidelity.A knot formed in her throat but she swallowed it painfully as Shirley walked into the room. Shirley had entered the kitchen just at the right time. Betty sighed with relief and formed a thin smile, two seconds later and there would have been the embarrassment of Shirley finding her crying. She motioned lamely to a chair and stood up to get the girl breakfast as she knew she must. Lord, the girl dressed like a professional prostitute, a high-class one but still a.
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