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Titel: Mohawk
Autoren: Richard Russo
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differentcircumstances, he could’ve been a great one. But like most people he had blind spots, things he just couldn’t see even when they were pointed out. At times I wonder. If he ever really loved—the kind of love that hurts, I mean. I think in the end he was just afraid.”
    All things considered, Randall was treated well enough, partly because of the misconduct lawsuit his lawyer had filed, partly because the case was showing signs of strain with every passing day. Randall had been afraid the girl would lie for him, but she didn’t. In the back seat of the police car on the way to the hospital, he’d insisted that she tell the truth, and apparently she had. It was the only thing to do, of course. She might convince people that she’d shot Rory Gaffney, but she had no conceivable reason to shoot the policeman and Wild Bill. Both she and Randall stuck to their stories and offered to take lie detector tests. Neither could be budged, even on details, and that worried the district attorney, who had motive, method and opportunity, but would’ve preferred to have a real case. Still, there was a dead cop and the clamoring public.
    Other than his mother, Randall’s only visitor was B.G. A week before the trial was scheduled to begin, she brought the baby with her. “They aren’t going to let us in,” she said, drawing a chair up outside the cell. “They’re afraid you’ll take Sue hostage or something. Crazy, huh?”
    She looked lovely, and as he often did, Randall thought that if somebody taught her a little about makeup and how to dress and carry herself, she might really be something. Maybe she was anyway. He hadn’t given much thought to being a family man, but she and the baby looked good to him, and it might be nice to sit someplace under a shade tree and bounce the child onhis knee while she played the guitar and sang. Trouble was, there weren’t any shade trees so late in October, the girl didn’t play the guitar and he was in jail.
    “I think it’s ridick. You’re the nicest person I ever knew, and that’s counting everybody.”
    This wasn’t the first compliment she’d ever paid him, but it sounded unnatural. “Something wrong?” he said when she wouldn’t meet his eye.
    “I guess I better tell you,” she said. “Andy’s back in town. Saw me on the TV, I guess. He says inasmuch as we’re still married and everything—”
    Randall forced a smile. “Great. That’s great.” He stuck his thumb through the bar, and the baby caught it and hung on.
    “It’s good for her—to have a father and all. Not that you weren’t like a father—”
    “I wasn’t like a father.”
    She shrugged. “You think he’ll just run off again?”
    “Not if he’s smart.”
    “I’d rather with you, you know.”
    “It looks like I might be tied up for a while, one place or another.”
    “I hope it’s the war.”
    “You wouldn’t get killed.”
    He didn’t consider this a point worth arguing.
    “I just wish Andy was a little more stable, you know? ’Cause if he takes off again, I won’t have either one of you.”
    “Maybe he’ll run off about the time I get out.”
    She hadn’t thought of that, and the possibility of such fortuitous timing made her grin. Randall couldn’t help smiling himself.
    ·   ·   ·
    Dallas visited only once. “So,” he said. “Son.” It was the longest twenty minutes of their lives.
    About the only thing Randall regretted was missing Diana Wood’s funeral. Milly had an attack, a real one, in the evening and was rushed to the hospital. Instead of returning home, Diana slept in a chair in her mother’s room. At five forty-five in the morning, the nurse found her there stone-cold when she came in to prepare Milly for her tests. The old woman was snoring soundly. Mrs. Grouse was summoned to break the news to her sister, who took it all in in swift stages of disbelief, disorientation and dysfunction. “Who ever
of such a thing?” she said over and over again.

    If Diana Wood’s death accomplished anything, it was to prove Anne’s father wrong when he suggested that if she continued to love Dan Wood, she’d be hoping for her cousin’s death. Loving him was something she couldn’t help, nor wanting him, and needing she couldn’t help either. But she had never wanted to take him away. She knew that now. Dan had always belonged to her cousin, and always would. When they all were younger, Anne had fantasized what their lives
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