She’s in the booth next to me and I see her eyeing Sid, the vulnerable throat exposed, life pulsing in that big vein. There’s another deep pang of...regret at what I’m party to. It’s an odd feeling, that twinge of conscience. It makes me uncomfortable. I don’t like it one little bit. ‘Don’t you want a drink?’ she asks Sid. ‘He’s working,’ I say, interjecting quickly. She looks at Sid and then swivels to regard me. God, she really is divine. ‘Working?’ she asks, her accent foreign to my ears. ‘He. Well now it's three kids and thirty-five years later and I'm still acting like her protector and I guess provider. Ohshe has a job at the trucking company still but it's more like five hours a day, four days a week.I have been for years getting the feeling that I was more there to keep her in the life style she wanted ratherthan her making me feel like I was loved and cared for. She likes to sleep late, I am an early riser, and afteryears of her hassling me about waking her when I got up in the. More

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