Final Destination: End of the Line by Rebecca Levene

Author:Rebecca Levene [Levene, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Thrillers, General
ISBN: 9781844161768
Google: d6-BAAAACAAJ
Amazon: 1844161765
Publisher: Black Flame
Published: 2005-06-06T12:00:00+00:00

***

Peter had seen the others head off into various sections of the zoo in twos and threes, but before he could join any of them, Mary-Beth had linked her arm through his and led him off in the direction of the great cats.

"Now, I want you to tell me what makes you so sad," she said to him when they stood by the tiger's cage, admiring the great velvety creature as it paced restlessly backwards and forwards, its eyes gleaming like jewels.

Peter looked at her, surprised. "Well, I'm sad about Rinoka,” he said, but Mary-Beth shook her head.

“I'm sure you are,” she said. "You're a sensitive boy. But you were sad before that and I think maybe Rinoka's death just stirred up an older pain. I can see it sitting on your shoulders, like a burden that's been weighing you down for a long time. Is it your mother?"

She loosened her arm from his, as if aware that he would need some space. Peter swallowed convulsively several times, but didn't meet her eye, afraid of what the sympathy he'd find there would do to his fragile composure.

"She died," he said eventually. “Giving birth to me. My father, my family, we're Catholics. He wasn't allowed to choose between her life and mine, so God chose for him and for some reason he chose me." He was amazed and horrified at how bitter his voice sounded. His father would have beaten him if he'd ever heard him talking about God in that way.

"Oh, I see,” Mary-Beth said. Her voice was filled with a sudden, deep grief and he looked up in surprise to see that a tear was hovering at the corner of her eye, on the cusp of falling.

"Are you... are you okay?" he asked, awkwardly reaching over to pat her on the shoulder.

“Don't you be worrying about me," she said fiercely, brushing the tear impatiently from her eye to shatter on the ground. “I'm supposed to give comfort to you. I'd like to hear more about your mother, Peter."

"I'm not sure I want to talk about it,” he said, stiffly. “I don't mean to offend you, but it's a very private thing."

"Oh, I understand that, honey, I really do." MaryBeth leaned against the fence and he realized that she was exhausted. Coping with what they'd been through was hard enough at eighteen; it was amazing someone her age was able to keep going at all. Solicitously, he took her arm and led her over to a bench. He was rewarded with a brilliant smile, which for an instant showed him the beautiful. carefree girl that Mary-Beth had once been.

"I tell you what,” she said. “Why don't I tell you what ails me and when you've heard it maybe you'll want to share a little of your own troubles. They always say a problem shared is a problem halved though personally I think that's baloney. Grief should be hoarded, not spread around. But sometimes talking really does help. Is that all

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