They were that much in love. They spent their first married night in the Newport hotel wrapped in each other’s arms, gazing into each other’s eyes, and so on, but after they’d had sex twice there was only so much more gazing that could be done, and Carol turned on CNN while Doug took a shower. “Oh, my God,” he heard her say as he toweled off. She was sitting at the foot of the king-sized bed, the coverlet loosely bunched around her skinny frame, exposing the delicate bumps of her spine. She was transfixed. A young man had killed his wife and child and was now on the run; cameras were holding steady on a blue SUV going down a strangely empty freeway, headed for the coast. “I don’t know why you watch this stuff,” Doug said. He sat down beside her and kissed her bare shoulder. She smelled like candy. “She went to my high school,” Carol said, her eyes wide. “Younger though. So young. And the baby. Did you know them?” “I don’t think so.” On the screen now was a photograph of the young couple on their own wedding day, red-eyed from camera flash and booze.
