Only promise me this. She quickened her pace, and so did he, talking at her slightly averted ear. “I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you. " "I'm sorry. Then, as he was trying to bite through the rope, I told him, ‘That’s for 107 Traci, motherfucker. " O'Higgins threw out his chest, gave it a pat, and smiled. I don't care how soon he learns that he has lost his adopted son. Perhaps it was just as well there was no inherited memory. A hazy face appeared through the fog of sleep, pale and thin and looming. Dizziness overcame him like anesthetic and he slept.
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