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" Oh and by the way, don't take the video back. I want to see the rest." I bought it," I responded. It was an "as is" final sale. I couldn't take it back if I wanted... especially not without explaining what was really on the tape.She smiled and said, "Good, then we can watch it as much as we want." With that she was gone, leaving me as perplexed as I had been last night.I went to work in a mental fog. I rang up people's grocery orders wrong, didn't hear questions customers asked, and generally screwed up everything I touched. I even made a wrong turn on the expressway on the way home after nigh school and had to drive five miles out of my way. I finally resolved to not let it bother me. After all, Cindy was the one that initiated everything. Why not enjoy it and let her dictate how far the exploration went? I thought.When I walked into the apartment, Cindy was sitting on the sofa painting her toenails. She was wearing a short blue silk robe with one foot up on the coffee table. She. She salvaged a few things from her room, packed up her books, André's silhouette, two ragdolls, the clothes and shoes she wanted to keep, gave her stepmother's attorney the money and the accounting wordlessly, and, after a brief visit with her sister, returned to the Eastern Shore the same afternoon on the same blunt-nosed boat, feeling as if she had just been permanently rejected by polite society. For the first time, she realized she was an orphan and found herself praying, something she seldom did, praying for guidance, for forgiveness. It made her throat ache. My soul, she managed to remember, doth magnify the Lord. She wondered what it meant. It was the only prayer, other than the Lord's Prayer and that bless this bed verse, that she could recall.The fisherman took her to her own rickety dock, and she paid and thanked him after he helped pile her goods on the worn planking. She sat on her dome-topped trunk and watched him tack out toward the sluggish Chester River and straighten.
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