1990 - Mine v4 by Robert McCammon Page A

was based on knowing the right people, on cultivating the path through the gilded gates of Atlanta's social set. But they had lost each other. They had lost the people they used to be, and that knowledge made Laura's heart ache. Which in turn made her feel incredibly guilty, because she had all the material things anyone could possibly want while people starved in the streets of the city and lived beneath overpasses in cardboard boxes.
    She had lied to Carol today. When she'd said she wasn't having a baby for the reason of bringing Doug closer to her, it was a lie. Maybe it would happen. Maybe both of them would ease up, and find their way back to what used to be. The baby could do it. Having someone who was part of them could do it, and they'd find what was real again.
    "I'm thinking of buying the gun tomorrow," Doug suddenly said.
    The gun. They'd been talking about this for the last couple of weeks, ever since a house two blocks down the street was broken into when the family was at home asleep. In the past few months, Atlanta's crime wave had been washing closer and closer to their front door. Laura was against having a gun in the house, but burglaries were on the rise in Buckhead and sometimes when Doug was gone at night she felt frighteningly vulnerable even with the alarm system.
    "I think I'd better go ahead and do it, with the baby on the way," he continued as he picked at the casserole. "It won't be a big gun. Not a Magnum or anything." He gave a quick, nervous smile, because guns made him jumpy. "Maybe a little automatic or something. We can keep it in a drawer next to the bed."
    "I don't know. I really hate the idea of buying a gun."
    "I thought maybe we could take a class in gun safety. That way you'd feel better, and I would, too. I guess the gun shops or the police department teach a class."
    "Great," she said with a little cynicism. "We can schedule gun class right after our prenatal class."
    "I know having a gun around the house bothers you, and I feel the same way. But we've got to face reality: this is a dangerous city. Like it or not, we ought to have a gun to protect David with." He nodded, the issue settled. "Tomorrow. I'll go buy a gun tomor —"
    The telephone rang. Doug had turned the answering machine off, and in his haste to get up and race to the phone in the kitchen he overturned his salad plate and spilled some of the oil and vinegar dressing on the front of his pinstriped pants. "Hello?" he said. "Yes, right here." Laura followed him into the kitchen, and she said, "Take off your pants."
    "What?" Doug covered the mouthpiece. "Huh?"
    "Your pants. Take them off. The oil'll set in if I don't put something on it."
    "Okay." He unzipped them, unhooked the braces, and let his pants fall to his ankles. He was wearing argyle socks with his wingtips. "I'm listening," he said to the caller. "Uh-huh. Yeah." His voice was tight. He took off his shoes and then his pants and gave them to Laura. She went to the sink, ran the cold water, and rubbed some on the oil spots. The dry cleaner would have to repair the damage, but at least the oil wouldn't leave a permanent stain if she applied a little first-aid. " Tonight ?" she heard Doug say incredulously. "No way! The paperwork isn't due until next week!"
    Oh no, she thought. Her heart sank. It was the office, her constant rival. So much for Doug's night at home. Damn it, couldn't they leave him alone long enough for —
    "I can't come in," Doug said. "No. Positively not." A pause. Then: "I'm at home having dinner, Eric. Cut me some slack, okay?"
    Eric Parker, Doug's superior at Merrill Lynch. This was a bad sign.
    "Yeah. All right." She saw his shoulders slump. "All right, just give me —" He glanced at the wall clock. "Thirty minutes. See you there." He hung up, let out a long breath, and turned toward her. "Well, that was Eric."
    There was nothing she could say. Many nights he got telephone calls that stole him away from home. Like the rise of burglaries, that,