She was barefoot. ‘My parents were killed with that rifle almost a year ago, Bass.’ ‘Were they?’ he replied discretely. ‘That was tragic –...I’m sorry. The gun needs cleaning, Cushla but I’ll reassemble it and not touch it again if that’s you wish.’ ‘I don’t know what my wish is, Bass. It was such a shattering experience.’ ‘Then let my clean it, Cushla. Most other people would have had the gun destroyed. But I believe you did a reasonable thing in retaining it, as the gun was not at fault. And. ‘Yeah, well, that too…’ he mumbled, voice trailing off. ‘So. Are you ok?’ Lame, she thought. ‘Yes… no… I mean I have it all worked out in my head. I mean my head is ok with this. My head is wonderful. It thinks. Thinking is good. I do a great deal of thinking and it works for me, this thinking thing. When I can just think about it, think not FEEL oh no not FEEL, I’m ok with it…’ She thought she heard a sound during the verbal pause, a swallow of something liquid. He got like this, sometimes. It. More

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