tales of the hotel st crispian, chapter 136: a new day
by horace p sternwall
illustrated by eddie el greco and danny delacroix
editorial consultant: Prof. Dan Leo
dawn was just beginning to break over the saw mill river when michael eased the mud-pattered studebaker into the driveway of his elmsford home.
his home. all his.
because he knew carol wasn't coming back.
he didn't know where she had gone, but he knew she wasn't coming back.
he would have to listen to questions from his parents and people in the neighborhood, and maybe put up with some razzing or snide remarks at the firm, but basically he felt relieved.
he would never have to listen to carol again.
he could be michael again, and never again have to answer to the name of henry.
he got out of the car and locked it.
he went to the front door and unlocked it.
what a bore life was, forever locking and unlocking things.
suddenly he wondered if he would ever have another girl friend, or another wife.
gee, why think about that now, when he was newly freed? he pushed the thought out of his head.
it was replaced by another thought - would he have to go through the rigmarole of actually divorcing carol? she was not coming back. not even for some of his money. somehow he knew this. so why bother?
unless he wanted to marry someone else.
that was the least of his worries right now.
he hung his hat up on the coatrack inside the front door and sat down on the couch in the living room .
did he want a drink?
not really. not enough to bother making one.
strangely, he was not tired. and he didn't have to go to work.
he looked up and saw his most precious possession.
his television set.
he looked at his watch. almost five thirty. the news would come on in another hour.