Chapter Eighteen
Dick Whittington and His Beanstalk
Art is only as good as its lighting
Charlie was always on Deloris’s mind. Every night as she lay in bed she went over the rescue, the tea urn, the fake grass, and the jam jar toss. She saw it all: Charlie’s heroic hurling of George into the orchestra pit, followed by the look in his eyes.
She sighed . . .
Charlie was a real-life hero who had surprised everyone, who not only saved Deloris and George but emerged from the hall clutching the beheaded d**k Whittington, the postman’s finest piece of art.
“It’s all I could save,” he muttered to the postman, dusting a few ashes.
“Appreciate it, ol’ man.”
Deloris wanted to thank Charlie, but before she could catch his eye Charlie was swept up by the ambulance men with a blanket and tea, wh
