Chapter 26
I listened to Honey’s conversation with John Reynolds Esquire, AKA Candy’s daddy, with a sick kind of fascination. I could hear his part of the dialog, not as words, but a staccato squawking. It was more like the wa-wa-wa sounds the adults made on those old Charlie Brown cartoons than speech. No words, but his volume . . . well, it spoke volumes. Loud, clipped, curt. What few doubts I had about his resistance to belief were immediately squashed by Honey.
Honey handled him with more tact than I could have managed, even when his voice rose high enough to hurt her ears, she kept her cool with him. Not compassion, but a purely pragmatic empathy. She wanted him to understand, but not fall apart. She wanted him to grieve, but she wanted his grief on our side.
I reckoned that if she
