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And blushed. Anna had never seen a forty-five-year-old man blush before. It charmed her. "Not Rose. Rose's good to me. I just wish I could do more for her. She's used to better. You should have seen her in high school. God was she beautiful! She didn't even know I was alive. I was just this pencil-necked geek who played trombone in the marching band. " Anna knew that. Stacy had dropped it into their first conversation. Evidently he dropped it into most conversations about his wife. One evening after she'd sharpened her tongue on Vanna, Jamie had ranted on about it.
Of course it turns out everybody is. " She rang off, leaving Anna still holding the phone to her ear. Shoot the wife then shoot yourself. Anna hung up the phone. Before she wrote Mr. Silva off as a magpie she'd do a little digging. It hadn't escaped her notice that more than a third of the women who came to hospital emergency rooms for treatment had been damaged by husbands or boyfriends. Full darkness had come and she drove slowly back up to Far View. Cottontail bunnies, scarcely bigger than kittens, tried to find their way into the next world under her tires, but she successfully avoided them.
These were edifices, art, architecture. Homes built to last the centuries. If the builders had been driven out, surely the marauders would have taken up residence, enjoyed their spoils? If the Old Ones had not died and they'd not left of their own volition and they'd not been driven out. . Then what? Anna thought. Food for thought. Plots for Von Daniken. Anna's radio crackled to life and everyone at the table, including Al, looked at her as if she'd made a rude noise. "Excuse me," she murmured.