"Kevin O'Donnel Jr. - The Journeys of McGill Feighan 01 - Caverns" - читать интересную книгу автора (O'Donnell Jr Kevin)

stubbed out her cigarette, she tried to recall if they had another bottle of
bourbon. It seemed to her that there should be one, ah, in the linen closet?
NoтАж under the sink.
She started to rise from the living room sofa, but there was a weight on
her lap. She looked down and, with difficulty, focused her eyes. It was
one-year-old McGill, staring up at her. How'd he get here? From the smell of
him, he needed fresh diapers. He's sopping; my skirtтАФ Pat! Again!
Chuckling, she hugged her child and stood. If that wasn't just like Patrick
Sean Feighan, to pick up the kid, see he'd dirtied himself, and then slip him
onto her lap when she wasn't looking. She'd have to tease him about
thatтАФhe'd probably spent longer waiting for her to glance away than he
would have needed to change McGill.
Balancing herself on chair arms, she made her way to the kitchen, where
Pat pretty much lived these days. The door swung open in front of her, and
there he sat, legs spread, elbows on the table, gut hanging over his belt,
stuffing a greasy chicken leg into his mouth.
"Afraid changing him would spoil your appetite?" she asked, then
frowned at the echoes of her tone. She hadn't meant to sound
accusatoryтАФshe'd just wanted to needle him.
He looked up. "Is he needing it?"
Her tongue turned sour without permission, and drew words from a
bitter well she'd tried to cover with her lightness. "You knew damn well he
needed it when you dumped him on my lap." Good humor gone, she
plopped into the other chair and scowled at her husband.
 His blue eyes were guilelessly puzzled. "Not tonight," he said. "I haven't
been in to see him inтАж two hours? Three? MaybeтАж" His face darkened.
Lowering his head, he bit into the drumstick, ostentatiously dropping the
subject.
Rigid she sat, while alternate waves of fear and anger flushed love from
her heart. She couldn't have blacked out, not again. She'd been careful
aboutтАж that, since the last time. She had. And the self, which would rather
look through a magnifier than into a mirror, focused her attention on her
partner, where it found cause for enough indignation to blot out her worries
about herself.
Who was he to accuse her of drinking, him with his blubber and the case
of peanuts he kept under the bed, "In case I feel the need at night, darling,"
fat slob, her mother had warned her athletes turned to jelly when they
stopped working out, and much as she hated to admit it, it looked like
Mama was right for once.
She hadn't blacked out. She could remember every minute, relaxing there
in the living room after a miserable day, reading the newspaper article
aboutтАж aboutтАж well what the hell did it matter if she could remember the
subject or not, it wasn't important, what was important was that she hadn't
blacked out, please God, I couldn't have, not again, please, he'll leave me,
please, I love him I don't want to be a drunk, pleaseтАж


"This is the weirdest thing I've ever seen," said the programmer.
"I don't care what you've seen," snapped Hommroummy. "I want that
fixed and fixed fast."