Babycakes Read Online Free PDF

Silicon Valley,” he said. “Mr. Packard is showing the Queen around.”
“Mr. Packard?”
“The computer man. Our former deputy secretary of defense.”
“Ah. No wonder I forgot.”
He smiled at her, then picked up his mug and blew off its halo of steam. “He’s giving the Queen a computer.”
She made a quizzical face. “What does the Queen want with a computer?”
He shrugged. “It’s got something to do with breeding horses.”
“My word.”
“I know. I can’t picture it either.”
She smiled, then sipped her coffee for a while before asking: “You haven’t heard from Mona, have you?”
It was an old wound, but it throbbed like a new one. “I’ve stopped being concerned with that.”
“Now, now.”
“There’s no point in it. She’s cut us off. There hasn’t been so much as a postcard, Mrs. Madrigal. I haven’t talked to her for at least … a year and a half.”
“Maybe she thinks we’re cross with her.”
“C’mon. She knows where we are. It’s just happened, that’s all. People drift apart. If she wanted to hear from us, she’d list her phone number or something.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said.
“What?”
“Only a silly old fool would fret over a daughter who’s pushing forty.”
“No I’m not. I’m thinking what a silly old fool your forty-year-old daughter is.”
“But, dear … what if something’s really the matter?”
“Well,” said Michael. “You’ve heard from her more recently than I have.”
“Eight months ago.” The landlady frowned. “No return address. She said she was doing O.K. in ‘a little private printing concern,’ whatever that means. It’s not like her to be so vague.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Well … not in that way, dear.”
When Mona had moved to Seattle at the turn of the decade, Michael had all but begged her not to go. Mona had been adamant, however; Seattle was the city of the eighties. “Go ahead,” he had jeered. “You like Quaaludes … you’ll love Seattle.” Apparently, he had been right; Mona had never returned.
Mrs. Madrigal saw how much it still bothered him. “Go easy on her, Michael. She might be in some sort of trouble.”
That would hardly be news. He couldn’t remember a time when his former roommate hadn’t been on the verge of some dark calamity or another. “I told you,” he said calmly. “I don’t think about that much these days.”
“If we had a way of telling her about Jon …”
“But we don’t. And I doubt if we ever will. She’s made it pretty clear that she …”
“She loved Jon, Michael. I mean … they squabbled a bit, perhaps, but she loved him just as much as any of us. You mustn’t doubt that … ever.” She rose and began cracking eggs into a bowl. They both knew that nothing was to be gained by pursuing the subject. All the wishing in the world wouldn’t make a difference. When Mona had fled to the north, she had put more than the city behind her. Starting from scratch was the only emotional skill she had ever mastered.
Mrs. Madrigal seemed to share his thoughts. “I hope she has someone,” she murmured. “Anyone.”
There was nothing he could add. With Mona, it could well be anyone.
He tried not to think about her on the way to work, concentrating instead on the dripping wound in the roof of his VW convertible. A knife-wielding stereo thief had put it there three weeks earlier, and the bandage he had fashioned from a shower curtain required constant readjustment against the rain. It was no wonder the car had begun to smell like a rank terranum; he had actually discovered a small stand of grass sprouting in the mildewed carpet behind the back seat.
By the time he reached God’s Green Earth, the downpour was much worse, so he gave the plastic patch a final fluffing before making a mad dash to the nursery office. Ned was already there, leaning back in his chair, cradling his bald pate in his big, hairy hands. “That hole is a bitch, huh?”
“The worst.” He shook off the