Chapter 11
As a card-carrying sun worshiper, the short days of December had never much appealed to me. December twenty-first was no exception as darkness fell early, bringing a premature halt to my fruitless combing of the grounds of Washington College for any signs of my father or his car.
On my way back from the campus, I stopped at a convenience store and bought a few items I could nuke into a reasonable facsimile of supper in the little kitchen that adjoined my room — a Stouffer’s turkey tetrazzini and a spinach soufflé. After I scraped the last bits of spinach from the corners of the cardboard tray and licked my fork clean, I took a long, hot bath, then crawled into bed with the remote. It had taken me a little time to find the TV. In an attempt to maintain Victorian verisimilitude,
