Chapter Twenty One
“I know you’re uncomfortable in public without a bra,” Mickey said in the morning. “Why don’t you start wearing them again?”
“Because you said not to,” she said in a low voice, and it was more syllables than she had strung together since the alarm went off. It was getting to be a very quiet kind of morning.
Sandy had a tendency to stand those emotional barriers up, because she got hurt easily, and Mickey had hurt her. Not emotionally, but physically, and there was a scant difference between one and the other in the aftermath of the hairbrush experience, as he thought of it. He wondered if his solicitude was traceable to guilt.
“I threw them away like you told me,” she said, as if talking about bad eggs from the refrigerator. “The trash man came yesterday. They’re all
