He was fast asleep in his stroller as if nothing had happened. He doesn’t know yet about bad people. Bad parents. I wish he could live his whole life and never know. Suddenly I got up and grabbed him out of the stroller and — I couldn’t help it, maybe I was in shock too — I kept clinging to him and rocking him, and I said over and over again: “How could they hurt their little boy like that?” (Monty) It was a subdued crowd of dinner guests that left the rectory Sunday night. A wisecrack about supper with the boys without Mrs. Kelly’s supervision died on my lips. I had a sleepy girl on my hands. I had taken Normie for a late-evening treat at the Dairy Queen because she was so upset after the scene in the church parking lot, she couldn’t eat the Baileys cake. Brennan assured her that he would save it in the fridge for her, and she could sneak over from school on Monday and have a gigantic piece of it with a glass of milk. We decided that she would spend the night at my place.
