That was as much a lie this time as it had been then. This pretty young woman hadn't died because a car had hit the car she was riding in. She had died because a fool had had too much to drink. And which fool was it? Was it the fool who plowed his car into the car she was in? Or was the fool who raped her and asked his assistant to drive her home responsible? Had it been the fool who drove the car that hit Claire's car who was responsible for her death? Or was it the fool who thought a few scotches might help him erase the memory of all the hurtful things Cathy had said to him who really killed her?
God, why wasn't there some permanent way of forgetting the most painful memories a person collected over a lifetime of mistakes? Lennie sighed deeply. He knew why. If he forgot the painful memories he'd also have to forget the sweet memories too. He reached for the photo album, one of the few things he'd salvaged from his first divorce and added to through his second marriage and even after the second divorce. He thumbed through the pictures, the fashions changed, his pants legs went from bell bottoms to straight legs, sometimes his shirts were synthetics, sometimes natural fabrics sometimes buttoned up with his tie loosened, other times opened half way down to his belt and on rare occasions he didn't have a shirt on at all, sometimes he had wide side burns and at one point a mustache, but through it all there were certain constants. He was always smiling and his eyes shown with love and through it all his daughters were there, smiling up at him. Suddenly he remembered a line from a corny old Broadway show tune, "without a hurt a heart is hollow."