"We could get him off. We're still stronger than he is. Just don't drop him," Sam warned. "He hates to be dropped."

Bonnie held on tight, felt the snake strain against her grip, amazed at the power she felt undulating in her hands. I must be out of my mind, she thought. "I've been terrified of snakes all my life," she said.

"You're doing great," Sam told her.

The snake twisted its head toward her, its tongue flicking into the air. He really was magnificent, Bonnie thought, temporarily mesmerized by the sight of him, by the fact she was actually holding him in her hands. Her body swayed, as if under hypnosis. If someone had told her a week ago, an hour ago, that she would be standing next to a boy with blue-black hair and an earring in his nose, holding onto a four-foot-long boa constrictor, she would have said they were crazy. And yet, here she was, not only holding the d.a.m.n thing, but actually enjoying the sensation, the transference of power from the snake's body to hers. Undoubtedly, she was the one who was crazy.

Suddenly, the snake stiffened, shifted coils, like one of Amanda's slinky toys. He strained against her fingers and palms, threatening to spill out of her grip, to topple onto the floor. She couldn't drop him, she reminded herself, struggling to maintain her grip. Hadn't Sam just told her that he hated to be dropped? "Maybe you should take him now," Bonnie said, wondering what she would do if Sam refused, if he were to simply laugh and walk out of the room. Oh G.o.d, of all the stupid things she had done in the last few days, this was by far and away the stupidest. Did she really think this was the way to reach Sam? To get him to open up, talk about his mother? Did she really think that the way to a boy's heart was through his pet boa constrictor?

"Sure," Sam said, easily lifting the snake from her arms, returning him to the tank in one fluid motion, fitting the lid tightly in place.

Bonnie felt suddenly light-hearted and giddy. She heard laughter, realized it was her own. "I did it." She laughed. "I did it."

Sam laughed with her. "You were terrific," he said.

"Yes, I was," she agreed.

"My mother would never go near him," Sam mumbled, then ran a hand across his mouth, as if erasing his words.

Bonnie held her breath, desperate to bombard the boy with questions, but aware she had to tread very carefully. "No?" was all she said.

"She said he was slimy and disgusting," Sam continued, eyes on L'il Abner. "But he's not slimy at all."

"No, he isn't."

"She wasn't interested."

"Yet she let you keep him in the house. My mother would never have done that," Bonnie said, knowing this was true. She hadn't been allowed any pets as a child. Her mother's allergies, she was told, remembering the puppy that Nick had brought home one afternoon, only to be told he had to take it right back to where it belonged. "It belongs with me," he'd begged, to no avail.

"I guess."

"What was your mother like, Sam?" Bonnie ventured, softly.

His familiar shrug returned. "I don't know," he said, after a brief pause. "We didn't spend a lot of time together."

"Why was that?"

"You'd have to ask her." He laughed, a strangled and truncated sound, and rubbed the side of his nose with his hand.

"That doesn't get in your way?" Bonnie pointed to the earring in his left nostril.

"You forget about it," he answered, a shy smile briefly illuminating his face, then immediately disappearing.

"Talk to me about your mother," Bonnie said, watching him stiffen, his body swaying, like the snake now stretching toward the top of the tank.

Sam said nothing for a very long time. "You think I should be sad that she's dead," he said finally.

"Aren't you?"

"No. Why should I be sad?" His eyes challenged hers. "She was a useless old drunk. She never loved me."

"You don't think your mother loved you?" Bonnie repeated.

"It was only Lauren she loved," Sam continued. "She didn't have any use for me." Again, he scratched at the side of his nose. "And I had no use for her. That's why I'm not sad she's dead."

"It must have been very hard for you."

"What?"

"Growing up with a mother who drank, who had no time for you, who never showed you any affection."

"It wasn't hard." Defiance laced unconvincingly through his words.

"You must be very angry with her."

He sneered, raised his hands into the air. "She's dead. How can I be angry with her?"

"Just because people die, doesn't mean our anger dies with them."

"Yeah? Well, it's no big deal."

"What about your grandmother?" Bonnie asked, switching gears.

"My grandmother? What about her?"

"I saw her today."

"Yeah? She know who you were?"

"No."

Sam laughed. "Didn't think so."

"What did you say?" a voice asked. Bonnie turned to see Lauren, ashen-faced in the doorway. "Did you say you saw our grandmother?"

Downstairs, a door opened and closed. "Bonnie?" Rod called. "Bonnie, are you home?"

"Upstairs," Bonnie called in return, her voice filled with surprise. "I thought you were going to be late."

"I told Marla, enough was enough," Rod said, his footsteps on the stairs. "I have a home, I have a family, I have a beautiful wife I'm not spending enough time with." He approached the door to Sam's room, stopped when he saw Bonnie with his two children. "What's going on?" he asked.

15.

They were sitting on the end of the bed. "I have a surprise for you," he said.

Bonnie smiled at her husband. "You're full of surprises tonight," she said, listing them silently in her mind. For starters, his early arrival home, followed by his seemingly unflappable good spirits, his lack of anger when he learned of her trip to see Elsa Langer, his insistence on putting the finishing touches on dinner, on serving it, on helping Bonnie with the cleanup. He'd even sat and watched while Lauren read Amanda a bedtime story and then put her to bed, then spent a half hour more alone with his older daughter. "I think Lauren really appreciated the time you spent with her tonight," Bonnie told her husband.

"I enjoyed it," Rod said. "She's really a very lovely young lady."

"I wish there was something more I could do for her."

"Just be yourself. She'll come around."

"What did you two talk about?"

"Marla, mostly."

"Marla?"

"You know how kids are impressed with celebrity." He shrugged, dismissively. "She wanted to know what she was really like, if she was involved with anyone, that kind of thing."

"Is she?" Bonnie recalled vaguely that Marla was between husbands at the moment.

"I have no idea," Rod said. "I'm her director, not her confidant. But I guess we'll find out soon enough."

"What do you mean?"

"Dinner on Sat.u.r.day night."

"What dinner on Sat.u.r.day night?" Bonnie asked. Had she missed part of the conversation?

"Dinner at Marla's house this Sat.u.r.day," he told her. "Did you forget?"

"Forget? This is the first I've heard about it."

"I told you a month ago about this dinner," Rod said, "although I'm hardly surprised it slipped your mind in light of all that's happened."

"Rod, I don't think I'm up for an evening with Marla Brenzelle. Besides, we don't have a sitter."

"We have two teenagers."

"We can't do that," Bonnie protested. "You know how Joan felt about us using her kids as baby-sitters."

"They're my kids, too," Rod reminded her. "And I think they'd enjoy it. They love Amanda, and she's crazy about them. Besides, I think it'll make them feel more like part of the family. Isn't that what you're always talking about-becoming a real family? They're good kids," Rod added quietly, sounding somewhat surprised, as if he'd just been introduced to these strangers who were his two older children.

And perhaps this was the case, Bonnie thought, knowing that, much as she was loath to admit it, Caroline Gossett's a.s.sessment of Rod as a father hadn't been too far off the mark. The truth was he'd never spent much time with any of his children, including Amanda. At first, he claimed she was too little, too delicate, for him to hold. He was uncomfortable around babies, he'd explained, although that scarcely accounted for his discomfort now that Amanda was three years old.

Bonnie had always rationalized Rod's aloofness from his daughter as a fear of losing her. He'd already lost one baby girl to a tragic accident and his older children to divorce. He was afraid to get too close, afraid to allow himself the luxury of loving Amanda unconditionally, afraid of being hurt again. At least that's what Bonnie had been telling herself until Caroline Gossett told her otherwise.

Perhaps all that was motivating Rod now was a desire to prove Caroline wrong. Whatever it was, if Bonnie's visit to Caroline Gossett accomplished nothing else but to get Rod back on track as a father, it had been worth it, she told herself, taking her husband's hand in hers. "What's my surprise?" she asked, banishing Caroline Gossett from the room.

"Close your eyes," Rod instructed.

Bonnie did as she was told, feeling like a little kid, starting to giggle. She felt him leave her side, heard a drawer open, followed by the crinkling sound of a plastic bag. A hot pink plastic bag with a big red heart on its side. Linda Loves Lace, she read silently, trying to arrange her features into an appropriate configuration for surprise.

"Okay," he said. "You can open them."

Bonnie opened her eyes, saw her husband standing in front of her, his hands tightly gripping the pink plastic bag. "What is it?" she asked.

He dropped the bag gently into her lap. "It's been a while since I got you anything," he said, sheepishly. "I thought this might jog a few pleasant memories."

Bonnie feigned intrigue, then mild shock, as she withdrew the s.e.xy bra and panties from the bag, followed by the garter belt, stockings, and scarves. "My, my, what have we here?"

"You always looked great in lavender," he told her. "And out of it," he added. "Are you going to try it on?"

"Now?"

"Unless you have other plans."

"I have no other plans," she said, standing up, Rod blocking her way, surrounding her with his arms, drawing her into a tight embrace.

"I don't think you have any idea how much I love you," he said.

"I love you too."

"I've been a jerk."

"No, you haven't."

"I've been burying myself in my work, trying to ignore everything that's happened, not taking your concerns seriously enough, not being here for you and the kids...."

"You're here now."

"I love you."

"I love you more," Bonnie said.

"I can't wait to see you in this."

"The bra looks a little ambitious." Bonnie held it to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Oh well. What is it they say? More than a handful is a waste?"

"I always thought it was mouthful," he told her.

Bonnie felt her heart quicken. "I like the way you think," she told him, and he kissed her again, this time his tongue probing the insides of her mouth. Bonnie thought immediately of the snake, its forked tongue stretching toward Sam's lips. Instantly, she recoiled.

"Something wrong?" Rod asked.

Bonnie shook away the unfortunate image with a toss of her head. "Let me slip into something less comfortable," she whispered, sliding out of her husband's arms, and hurrying toward the bathroom, closing the door behind her, fumbling with the b.u.t.tons on her blouse.

In the next minute, her blue skirt and white blouse were on the floor, along with her white cotton bra and panties. She stared at her naked body, immediately sizing up its faults: her b.r.e.a.s.t.s could be bigger; her b.u.t.t could be higher; her stomach could be flatter; her arms could be firmer. Her face would no longer be mistaken for that of a teenager. She lifted the flesh at either side of her eyes, thinking of Marla Brenzelle. A little nip here, a little tuck there, a few pounds of well-placed plastic here, a few acres of discarded fat there.

She stepped into the bikini panties, pulling them over her slender hips. They were sheer and fit high on the hips, dipping into a deep V above her pubic hair. She sucked in her stomach, twisted at the waist. Why couldn't she have one of those tiny little waists, like the models in the latest edition of Vogue and Bazaar? "Could I have one of those, please?" she asked her reflection.