July, July

Anyway, as you all know,” David said, “I majored in Marla during my time here at Darton Hall, and then for almost ten years afterward. Mostly got D’s, I’m afraid—ended up with a big fat F—but I’ll love her forever.”

There were instances of doubt and jealousy, even outright rivalry, yet both husbands were willing to adapt, willing to pay a price in return for Spook Spinelli’s divided attention. They were good men. They loved her. They were also a trifle afraid of her, and afraid for her. They recognized the fragility at the core of Spook’s personality, the tenuous grip she had on her mental health and perhaps on life itself

By convention, and perhaps out of psychological need, we too often interpret the bizarre facts of our universe as mere farce, beneath belief

Even as a college kid Spook had taken huge emotional risks without knowing why, gambling on instinct, man after man, betting big, mostly winning, always trusting in chance and the purity of human motives

She was still slim, but no longer cute, and at present her consonants were under vodka pressure.

From the day he’d met her, or even before, David had known that the odds were poison. One in a thousand, maybe worse. But there were no decent options except to keep trying and never quit.

Let’s just say the gal was born in neutral. No overdrive. No gears at all

The affair had developed by accident, a mild flirtation, never serious, but the consequences were enough to make her believe in Satan