Download Night of the Living Deed PDF

TitleNight of the Living Deed
LanguageEnglish
File Size1.4 MB
Total Pages250
Table of Contents
                            Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Thirty-nine
Forty
Forty-one
Forty-two
Forty-three
Forty-four
Forty-five
Forty-six
Forty-seven
Forty-eight
Forty-nine
Fifty
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
                        
Document Text Contents
Page 125

“When we’re out on a date, no talk about Melissa. It’s like shop talk for you,
and a little un-romantic for me, frankly.”
He smiled. “You’re absolutely right, Alison. So tell me about you. You grew

up in this area?”
I nodded. “I grew up in Harbor Haven, spent a couple of years at two different

colleges, dropped out, worked at HouseCenter, got married, moved up to
Bayonne with my husband, had . . .”
“Don’t say her name,” he teased. “It’s a rule.”
“ . So we moved back down here, first to a little house in Red Bank. My

ex paid for Melissa to go to school in Harbor Haven because I knew the schools
were good.”
Ned tilted his head. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But then The Swi . . . Steven and I decided to divorce, and

I remembered that I hadn’t always wanted to work at HouseCenter or in a
lumberyard. I wanted to open a guesthouse in Harbor Haven. So I started
looking for the right house, and we ended up . . . well, you know where we live
now.”
“I think it’ll make a great guesthouse,” Ned said after the waiter took our

order for souvlaki and pastitsio. “I’d still love to come by and see it.”
“I’d love to show you around,” I heard myself say. Boy, he seemed eager. I

mean, I’m not bad-looking by any means, but I don’t usually inspire men to
pursue me quite so fervently.
“As long as the ghosts don’t object,” he said with a twinkle—yes, an actual

twinkle!—in his eye.
“So tell me about yourself,” I said, shifting gears with the ease of a twelve-

year-old tractor-trailer with rusted gears.
“I don’t have a very interesting story,” Ned told me. “I grew up in Seattle.”
“Right away, that’s interesting to a Jersey girl,” I said.
“Well, for me, it was cold and rainy,” he answered. “And I got out of there as

quickly as I could, when I was eighteen.”
“You escaped to the tropical climate of New Jersey?”
Our waiter appeared at that moment with our appetizers, which consisted

mostly of breaded and baked cheese, and olives (because it was a Greek
restaurant and you have to have olives).
“New Jersey wasn’t my initial destination,” Ned told me when the coast was

once again clear. “Actually, it was Peru.”
“Peru!” Heads turned at other tables. Oops.
“Yes, you might have heard of it. It’s in South America. Go south and make a

right at Brazil.”

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