There was nothing more to say except a final farewell. You'll see for yourself." There was a loud clap of thunder, like an offstage cue. He sounds like a very understanding man." "He is. Charles doesn't mind if I keep working after we're married." "That's wonderful, baby.
"How is your job? Still enjoying it?" "I love it. "No boyfriends." She changed the subject. Since Tracy's father had died five years earlier, Doris Whitney had not even considered going out with another man, despite Tracy's encouragement. How are you feeling?" You're in perfect health, Doris, were Dr. "Does he know how lucky he is to have you, baby?" "I keep telling him." Tracy laughed. She would never hold a grandchild in her lap. He's fantastic." "I'm sure he is." She would never meet Charles. They'll love you, darling." "Charles says it doesn't matter. I have butterflies the size of dinosaurs." "Don't worry. "The Stanhopes, of Chestnut Hill," she sighed. Tomorrow night I'm meeting Charles's parents." She deepened her voice as though making a pronouncement. "I never believed anyone could be so happy. "Tell me what's happening in Philadelphia." "I feel like a princess in a fairy tale, Mother," Tracy said. "That's thunder, Tracy." She forced a note of cheerfulness into her voice. By evening the rain will be turning to thundershowers. Too deeply wrapped in her thoughts, Doris had not been aware of it. "It's raining." And she thought, How melodramatically appropriate. "Mother? Are you there?" Doris Whitney stared out the window. What's it doing there?" Dear God, we're talking about the weather, Doris Whitney thought, when there's so much I want to tell her. Charles and I were going out for dinner, but the weather's too nasty.
I just felt like hearing the sound of your voice, darling." "What a nice surprise, Mother." "I hope I didn't wake you up." "No. And then there was a soft "Hello?" "Tracy. She listened to the echo of the distant ringing. She placed it next to the telephone and dialed her daughter's number in Philadelphia. It was shiny black, and terrifyingly cold. She opened the drawer of the bedside table and carefully removed the gun. Doris Whitney looked around the bedroom for the last time to make certain that the pleasant room, grown dear over the past thirty years, was neat and tidy. She undressed slowly, dreamily, and when she was naked, she selected a bright red negligee to wear so that the blood would not show. New Orleans THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 20 - 11:00 P.M.
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