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“Could you play ‘Fiddler on the Roof’?” father Thomas pleaded. The pause lengthened, and he had the satisfaction of seeing despair melt the set mockery of Spurlock's mouth. The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue. "Get ready your heaviest irons, Austin. I speak no harm of her. Shari was to be protected, to be dissuaded from driving in cars with older boys at night, to be steered away from dope and beer and certain friends who had no plans to work or to go to college. “Don’t you get it, Lucy? I’ve always thought he was an idiot. He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness.
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