Laura Stone was ten feet away, amid the small puddles of lemonade and shards of drinking glass that now littered the concrete floor. She was staring back at me, her face a montage of fear and apprehension and panic and something else that I couldn't recognize. Or to be more accurate, she was staring up at me from underneath the brim of a white baseball cap, staring up at me from the spot where she'd dropped to her knees."Mrs. Stone?" I asked tentatively, as if there was some chance that she might deny it at this point."Laura," she said quietly. She stared at me for another second or two and then bowed her head.I stood there, frozen in place, looking down at Laura Stone. She was dressed in a faded button-down men's shirt whose ends she'd knotted underneath her chest. The top two buttons were undone as a concession to the unusually warm weather, and they afforded me a splendid vista of the top of her ample chest. Her shorts were surprisingly short, not the knee-length variety I would. His looks were rather plain: dull dark brown hair,brown eyes, a tall, almost lanky but not overly muscular frame. Forsomeone whose job involves a lot of standing around or sitting, though,he was still trim and fit.Barry did the cooking for both of them, since he'd developed skills inthe kitchen during bachelorhood and he was at home nearly all the timeanyway. As far as he could tell, Valerie seemed to know little aboutcooking except how to microwave a TV dinner and open a bottle of soda.Barry did the laundry, vacuuming, banking and shopping for the two ofthem, since those activities fit around his daytime sleep and nocturnalwork schedule, too. Valerie pitched in on the chores whenever she washome, which wasn't very often. Right after the honeymoon, Val hadimmersed herself in a project at the institute and that kept her at theschool from early in the morning until very late at night. Weekendswere, often as not, absorbed by the project, too.Just before the wedding, they'd bought a.
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