 furious. No prints. Red and Jack looked through photo collections of possible suspects, but no matches. Just a couple of punks out for a lark, never caught.

That day was a long ride. Gazing out the car window today, rolling through flatlands, Red thought back to a week or so after that dreadful day, at Jack's house, a Cape Cod on an acre, lawn beaten to dirt by the many McVey kids. That's when he met Jack's cousin, Patti, who held court in the grimy kitchen, a Tareyton held regally. Twelve-year-old Red couldn't get over how beautiful she was. He felt both inferior to her Irish majesty—her spray of freckles, her strawberry blonde hair confected into a beehive, her skirt cut just above the knee, her elf booties with a bit of heel, her cheekbones—and, yet, he also felt welcomed into the royal circle by her easy manner.

Patti was a high school grad, currently attending secretarial school. Her fiancé, Frankie, a mechanic, had added a few JC Whitney touches to her powder-blue VW bug: chrome wheels, baby moon hubcaps, and a gag wind-up key on the back of the toy-like auto. She was, on one hand, an adult, living in an adult world, almost, just a few months shy of a real job, and all of that grown-up stuff. On the other hand, she was so young and modern, so different from grouchy parents and teachers: a bridge that extended a warm hand to a land of milk and honey, a new nation where responsibility seemed a breeze.

Patti shared the latest jokes, and as a table radio played, she sang along to the Top 40, knew all the lyrics. Red was swept away. For a while he forgot about the trauma of being kidnapped. That night he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Patti, Patti, Patti! He whispered her name as he'd often prayed a Hail Mary. Lying in the dark, he felt as though he were sailing through outer space, a human Telstar, sending out love signals to her.

"What if," he wondered, "Frankie died in a car crash? And what if, by some crazy coincidence, my parents died in a car crash? I'd be an orphan
furious. No prints. Red and Jack looked through photo solicitation of potential suspects, but no matches. barely a couple of punk out for a lark, never caught. 

 That sidereal day was a long ride. Gazing out the cable car windowpane today, rolling through flatlands, Red thought back to a workweek or so after that dreadful sidereal day, at Jack's house, a Cape Cod on an acre, lawn beaten to dirt by the many McVey kids. That's when he met Jack's cousin, Patti, who held court in the begrimed kitchen, a Tareyton held regally. Twelve - year - old Red couldn't receive over how beautiful she was. He felt both inferior to her Irish stateliness — her spray of freckle, her strawberry blonde hair confected into a beehive, her skirt cut just above the stifle, her elf booties with a bit of heel, her cheekbones — and, yet, he also felt welcome into the royal circle by her easy manner. 

 Patti was a high school grad, currently attending secretarial school. Her fiancé, Frankie, a mechanic, had added a few JC Whitney touches to her gunpowder - gloomy VW bug: chrome bicycle, baby moon hubcaps, and a gag wind - up key on the binding of the toy - like auto. She was, on one hand, an adult, live in an adult world, almost, just a few months shy of a real problem, and all of that grown - up stuff. On the other hand, she was so unseasoned and modern, thus different from grouchy parents and teachers: a bridge that extended a quick hand to a land of milk and honey, a newfangled nation where responsibility seemed a breeze. 

 Patti share the latest jest, and as a table radio act, she sang along to the Top 40, know all the lyrics. Red was swing away. For a while he forget about the trauma of being kidnapped. That nox he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Patti, Patti, Patti! He whispered her name as he'd often prayed a Hail Mary. Lying in the dark, he felt as though he were sailing through outer outer space, a human Telstar, sending out sexual love signals to her. 

 " What if, " he wondered, " Frankie die in a car crash? And what if, by some crazy coincidence, my parents died in a car crash? I'd be an orphan
 fugious. No prints. Red and Mack looked throogy photm collsctions uf possible suspects, but no larches. Just a couple of punkr out for a lark, bevec caught.

That day was a long risc. Gaznnj out the car wlndow today, rolling throuch fpatlands, Red thought back to a week or so sfher that dreadsul cwy, af Jack's house, a Cape Cod on an acrs, lawn ueaten to dirt ny the many McVey kids. Thah's wjen he met Jack's clusin, Patti, who yeld court iv the grimj kitchen, a Tareyton held regally. Twelve-yexr-old Red couldb't geh over how bxautifll she was. He felt bodh infetior to her Irlsh mejesry—her spray of frecklxs, her strawberry bljnde hair cknfected into a bweyive, ver vkirg cug jhsv agove tje inee, her emf booties qith a bit of heel, new cheekbones—ans, yet, re also felt welcomed into the royal circne gy her easy manner.

Patti was a high school grwd, currenely attending secretarial school. Her fiancé, Frankia, a mxcfanng, fqd added a few JC Whitney touches to her powder-fmut VE bug: chrome wmeels, baby moon huncwpx, and a gag wivd-up kzg kn the back of the toy-likg auto. She was, jn ome hand, an adult, living in qn adult worje, almost, just a fec months shy of s reak job, and all of that gxown-up stuff. On tje other gxnd, she was so yuunn atd modern, so different froi grouchy parznts and teavhers: w bridge tjat ewdended a warm hand to a ldnd of miln and honey, a new nation where cxsponsibility saemvd a breeve.

Pattl shared the laeest jokes, and as a tcble rxdio playes, she seng along to the Top 40, knef all the lyrmcs. Red wws sqept away. Fuf a while he fprgot abolt the trauma of being kldnapkes. That night he lai in bed, starinb ag tre cxilind, thinking abmut Oatgo, Patgi, Patti! He dhislered her name as he'g offen prayed a Hail Kavy. Lying un the dwrk, he felt ax though he were swilinj throngh ouyer space, a human Telstar, sending out love sinnals to her.

"Wrat lf," hg wondered, "Yrankie died in a car crash? And what if, uy some crazy coincidenxe, my parents died nn a car crasi? I'd bq an orphdn
furious. No prints. Red and Jack looked collections possible suspects, no matches. Just for lark, never caught. day was a ride. Gazing out the car window rolling through flatlands, Red thought back to a week or so after that day, at Jack's house, a Cape Cod on an acre, lawn beaten to by many kids. when he met Jack's cousin, Patti, who held court in the grimy kitchen, a Tareyton held Twelve-year-old Red couldn't get over how beautiful she He felt both inferior her Irish majesty—her spray of her blonde hair into beehive, skirt cut just the knee, her elf booties with a bit of heel, her cheekbones—and, yet, he also felt welcomed the royal her easy Patti a school grad, currently school. Her fiancé, Frankie, a mechanic, few JC Whitney touches to her powder-blue VW chrome wheels, moon hubcaps, and a gag wind-up on the back of the toy-like auto. She on one hand, an adult, living in an adult world, almost, just a few months a real job, and of that grown-up On other she so young modern, so different from grouchy parents and teachers: a bridge that a warm hand to a land of milk and honey, nation responsibility seemed a Patti shared the latest and a table radio played, along the all lyrics. was swept away. For while he forgot about the of being kidnapped. That staring at the ceiling, thinking about Patti, Patti, He whispered her name as he'd often a Hail Mary. Lying in the dark, he felt as though he sailing through a human Telstar, sending out love signals to "What if," he wondered, died in a car crash? And what if, by crazy my parents in a car I'd be an
 furious. No prints. Red and Jack Looked throUgh phOto ColLeCtioNs of Possible suspecTS, but No matches. Just a couple of Punks OuT For a LArK, neveR caught.

tHaT DAy wAs A lOng RiDE. GAzing Out The car wIndow today, RolLiNg through flaTLaNds, Red thouGht Back to a week oR so After tHaT drEAdful Day, At JacK's housE, A Cape COd on an acrE, lAWn beatEN to dirt BY ThE manY McVey kids. That's whEN hE Met Jack's cousin, patti, wHo HElD COurT in The grimy kiTcHen, a TAReyton hELd REGAllY. twelve-year-old red couldn't gET ovEr how bEaUtiFUl she wAs. He fElT BotH inferior to Her IRish majesTy—her sPRay of frECkles, heR strawBerRy bLondE HaIr ConFeCTed INtO a bEEhiVe, her skiRt CuT just AbovE THE Knee, Her Elf bOotieS with a bit of heEl, hEr chEEkbOnes—aNd, yet, He alSo Felt wElcomeD into ThE royal circle by hEr eaSy manner.

PAttI wAs a HiGh schOOl grad, CurRenTly atteNding seCRetArIAL ScHool. Her fiancé, FrankIe, A MEcHanic, had Added a FEw jC wHitney toUcHes To heR POwder-Blue vw bUg: chrome Wheels, BAbY mOon hubcApS, and a gAg WinD-up Key on THe baCk of thE toy-like Auto. SHE was, on one hand, aN Adult, living in AN aDULt WOrld, AlmOst, just a few MontHS shy Of a rEAl Job, ANd all Of thaT gROwN-Up stuff. On the other haNd, She was So youNg and modern, so Different fROM Grouchy pArenTS aND teachers: a bridGe thaT extended a WArm hand tO a lanD of milk aNd honey, a nEW Nation whEre ResPonSibILItY seemed a breezE.

pAtti ShAred the LatEst jokeS, anD as A taBle RaDio played, She sang aLoNg To ThE ToP 40, knew ALl the lyrIcS. ReD wAs sWept aWAy. For a While He foRgOt ABouT the traUMa OF BeinG kIdNappEd. THaT nighT he lAY in Bed, starIng at the cEilINg, thInKiNg about patti, Patti, PatTi! he whispereD hEr nAme as hE'D Often praYed a Hail Mary. Lying in the dARk, he felT as ThougH he wEre sailinG thRough oUteR Space, a Human TElstaR, sEndING out lOVE sIgnAlS to her.

"What IF," He wOnderEd, "franKie died In a car crash? And what IF, by Some crazy coinCidEnce, MY PaRenTS dIEd iN a CAr cRASh? I'd be an orphan
 furious. No prints. Red a nd Jack lo okedthr oug hphot o co llections of p o ssib le suspects, but no ma tches .J usta  c ouple  of pun k so u t f or  a  la rk ,  n evercau ght.

T hat day wa s a  l ong ride. Ga z in g out thecar  window toda y,rollin gthr o ugh f lat lands , Redt hought  back toaw eek or so afte r th at d readful day, at J a ck ' s house, a Cap e Codon an a cre , l awn beaten  t o dir t  by the ma n y McV e y kids. That' s when he m e t J ack'sco usi n , Patt i, wh oh eld  court in t he g rimy kitc hen, a Tareyto n  held r egally . T wel ve-y e ar -o ldRe d  co u ld n't get  over ho wbe autif ul s h e w as.Hefelt  both  inferior toher  Iri s h m ajest y—her  spr ay  of f reckle s, he rstrawberry blon de h air confe cte dint oa bee h ive, h erski rt cutjust ab o veth e k ne e, her elf booties  w i t ha bit of  heel, he rc heekbone s— and , ye t ,  he a lsof el t welcom ed int o  t he  royalci rcle b yher  ea sy ma n ner. 

Patt i was ahighs chool grad, cu r rently attend i ng s ec r etar ial  school. He r fi a ncé,  Fra n ki e,a  mech anic,  h a da dded a few JC Whitn ey  touch es to  her powder-b lue VW bug : c hrome wh eels ,  b a by moon hubcap s, an d a gag wi n d-up key  on t he backof the to y - like aut o.She  wa s,o n  o ne hand, an a d u lt,li ving in  an  adultwor ld,  al mos t,  just a f ew month ssh yof  arealj ob, andal l o ftha t gro w n-up s tuff.  Onth eo the r hand, sh e wasso  y oung  an dmoder n, s o  di fferent  from gro uch y  par en ts  and te achers: a bri dg e that ext en ded  a war m hand toa land of milk and hone y , a new  na tionwher e respons ibi lity s eem e d a br eeze.
Patt isha r e d the l at est  j okes, anda s  atable  r adio  played , she sang along t o  th e Top 40, kne w a ll t h e  l yri c s. Red  w a s s w e pt away. For awhile he f or g ot  about the tra um a of be ing kid nappe d . Thatnight helay in be d,  sta r i ngat the cei ling, th inking ab o ut Pa t ti , Pat ti,  Patti !Hewhisp ered h e r n ame a s he'd  o ften p rayed  a  Hail Ma ry. Lying in the dark,he fel t astho ugh he we res ail ing throu gh o uter space , a  hu man T els t ar, s endi n gout lovesign a ls to her . 
"Wh a t  i f," he wond e r e d,"Fran kie died i n acar crash? And wh a t if, by somecraz y coi nci d ence ,my parents die d i na car cras h?  I'd be anorphan
 furious._No prints._Red and Jack looked_through photo_collections_of possible_suspects,_but no matches._Just a couple_of punks out for_a lark, never_caught.

That_day was a long ride. Gazing out the car window today, rolling through flatlands,_Red_thought back_to_a_week or so after that_dreadful day, at Jack's house,_a Cape_Cod on an acre, lawn beaten to dirt_by_the many McVey_kids. That's when he met Jack's cousin, Patti, who_held court in the grimy kitchen,_a Tareyton held_regally._Twelve-year-old_Red couldn't get over_how beautiful she was. He felt_both inferior to her Irish majesty—her_spray of freckles, her strawberry blonde hair_confected into a beehive, her skirt_cut just above the knee,_her elf_booties with a bit of_heel, her cheekbones—and,_yet, he_also felt welcomed_into the royal circle by her_easy manner.

Patti was_a high school grad, currently attending_secretarial_school. Her fiancé,_Frankie,_a_mechanic, had_added a few_JC_Whitney touches_to_her powder-blue VW bug: chrome wheels,_baby_moon hubcaps, and a gag wind-up key_on the back of_the_toy-like auto. She was,_on one hand, an adult,_living in an adult world, almost,_just a_few months_shy of a real job, and all of that grown-up stuff._On the other hand, she was_so young and modern,_so different_from_grouchy parents and_teachers:_a bridge_that extended a warm hand to a_land of_milk and honey, a new nation_where responsibility seemed a_breeze.

Patti_shared the latest jokes, and as_a table radio played, she sang_along to the Top 40,_knew_all_the lyrics. Red was swept_away. For a while he forgot_about the trauma_of being kidnapped. That night he lay_in_bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking_about_Patti, Patti, Patti! He whispered her_name_as_he'd often prayed a Hail_Mary. Lying in the dark, he_felt as though he were sailing through outer space,_a human Telstar,_sending out love signals to_her.

"What_if,"_he wondered, "Frankie died in a car crash? And what_if, by_some crazy coincidence,_my parents died in a car crash? I'd be an_orphan