“Huh. Joanne Clark. And it’s an older shot of me with my hair cut shorter and pulled back so you really can’t tell the color. The color field says brunette, though. Did you know about this one?”
Nice!
Not many people remember that Lois' middle name is Joanne. Just like they don't remember she had a cat (the furball's name escapes me at the moment.)
Ben scowled at her for another long moment, then shook his head. “Fine. Just don’t tell anyone where you got them, okay?”
She smiled impishly. “My lips are sealed, my friend.”
Ben, if I were you I would leave town.
Four years and nine months ago she was in his private hospital, nursing two broken fingers, a bruised spleen, a dislocated elbow, a wrenched back that had her horizontal for a week and in a brace for nearly two more months, and possessed of the sure and certain knowledge that she’d married one of the worst mass murderers in American history.
The very fact that Lois is willing to testify against this monster shows she has true grit.
But driving straight through to Denver? I've made trips like that, and I can tell you from experience that the lack of sleep and the monotony of the road catches up to you really quick. It's a lot faster, but it's also a lot more dangerous. They can't afford a wreck due to fatigue.
Sorry Terry have to disagree with you here ...a little anyway.
Back when I was in my twenties, driving from New York City to Bonita Springs, Florida was something my cousin and I did on a regular basis. One would drive for two hours while the other napped in the backseat. We only stopped for gas and bathroom. Ah, those were the days!
Would I do that now in my fifties? Not on your life!
