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"Phil reached into a shoulder bag, soft leather, deep brown like Marisol's eyes, and brought out a large silver automatic. It chilled her seeing it. "Mike showed me how. We went to the firing range." Can ... Can I see it?" Phil handed it to her. She tried handling it gingerly, but it was heavier than she thought. "This must have cost a lot. Sandy said your parents..." ... practically disowned me. I barely had enough to keep this big body fed." So how could you afford it?" Sandy bought it for me." She loves you." I know. I love her too. I love you twenty times more." I know." I'm now officially and completely disowned, not just sort of." They know why you came to Chicago." I told them."Marisol nodded. "You should have forgotten me," she said to the gun in her hand. "Look what I've done to you." Too late." I'm terrible Phil. I definitely don't deserve you." I feel the same about you."Marisol shook her head. "That doesn't make sense. I've never been anything but a mistress, a rich man's. “RRRRRaaaaayyyyy,” I heard a woman’s voice shriek.Ray’s memories quickly identified the voice as that of his mother, Cynthia Walker. Ray had been trudging in the pouring rain from the bus stop to the front door when something happened, throwing him several feet across the yard. Looking in the direction I’d come from, I saw the trunk of the tree he’d been walking beneath split and burned from a lightning strike.Taking stock of myself, I learned I was Ray Walker, age 14, and it was April 7, 1978. Right then, my terrified mother skidded to a stop on the soggy lawn, falling, sobbing, to her knees in the wet, muddy grass next to me.“We’re going to catch a cold if we don’t get out of the rain,” I chuckled.“Ohmigod, you’re alive!” she shrieked.“And deaf in one ear, now,” I added.“Raymond Chester Walker, you scare the bejeezes out of me, and then tease me,” she huffed.“I figured laughing would let you know I was still alive. Besides, laughing is making the headache go away,” I added, hoping.
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