Read Resurgence for Free Online Page A

reaches the outside stairs to the second floor, where they told him his room is.
    He’ll have to mind every step if he wants get to the top of these stairs without falling because the treads are see-through metal meshwork that makes him feel like a dog walking on glass.
    Queasiness stays with him after he reaches the solid surface of the second floor and gets worse when he finds his room and has all kinds of trouble opening the door with the plastic card they gave him instead of a regular key.
    Inside the room, he’s too dizzy to bother making comparisons to the North Bergen lodgings. He does, however, see that the television set is a whole lot newer, gets a whole lot more channels, and comes with a remote control that he chucks aside as he belly-flops onto a bed that commences pitching and tossing like a tilt-a-whirl at a roadside carnival.

SIX
    Late night, April 13, 1987
    At Laurel’s request, they’re behind closed doors in the winter parlor without phone, telly, or, as she put it, majorly distracting architectural details to deal with. She’s nestled in a deep armchair with one of the housecats on her lap, only the second time today that she’s been more than an arm’s length away from him.
    Colin stops pacing and takes a chair at the game table, where Gemma Earle left a drinks tray. “Tell me again why David’s on his way here at this late hour? Makin’ a round of courtesy calls, is he?”
    “Very well, I’ll tell you precisely why,” Laurel says. “When he phoned with the preliminary toxicology report, I asked him to come. I think we both need a face-to-face with someone close to the situation and I’m sure David can use a break after the day he’s had. Is this going to be a problem?”
    “Not for me. The current crisis transcends any problem I might have with tolerating his company. And I’m not the one who had the row with him on the plane and shunned him for most of the flight and gave him the cold shoulder when we went our separate ways yesterday.”
    “That was . . . unfortunate, but those issues are necessarily set aside—transcended, as you say—in light of new developments.”
    “You can leave off with the euphemisms. The blow’s been felt and absorbed and I’m not gonna go into hibernation again if someone says in so many words that Rayce is dead.”
    “I’m sorry. Perhaps I’ve been a little too—”
    “Solicitous and hovering. Yeh, you have. Everyone has. Been giving me the rubber glove treatment, the lot of you.”
    “Rubber glove? I don’t understand.”
    “David once suggested I was receiving rubber glove treatment instead of kid glove treatment. This was when I first started raising hell about the way I was being handled. I forget the exact context, but he meant I was being treated more like a lab specimen than a spoilt rock star, and the term stayed with me.”
    “I see.”
    “Be damn certain you do because I don’t fancy kid glove treatment either.”
    “Timely advice. Starting now, the gloves are off.”
    “Put that way it sounds like we’re getting ready to fight with no holds barred.”
    “Don’t worry, we’re not, but I do think I’ll leave you to debrief David on your own and I can’t promise I’ll still be awake when you come to bed.”
    “Wait a minute. You said we both needed a face to face with—”
    “That was before I was shown the error of my ways.”
    “You pissed?”
    “Heavens no. I’m relieved. And I think you’ll be relieved to have an unbuffered session with David knowing that you won’t be pampered.”
    The barking of the outdoor dogs announces David’s imminent arrival and hurries Laurel from the room before he can challenge her reasoning.
    “Laurel won’t be joining us?” David says when he’s shown in by Sam Earle, then answers his own question by remarking that Laurel has to be overwhelmed by all that’s befallen her in the past seventy-two hours and undoubtedly in need of time for reflection. “Tomorrow’s soon enough to