Discovering KarenChapter 2
None of us referred to that night in the weeks and months that followed. We seemed to go on pretty much like we had before. 'The Kiss, ' as I had begun to enshrine it in my memory, might have been forgotten by everybody but me. Then it was spring. April. The cruelest month, somebody once said, talking about the painful awakening of new life after the death of winter, kind of like fingers recovering from frostbite. But my desire for Karen certainly hadn't died; it had survived the dead...