Monday, June 4, 2012
Stevie picked up the phone, "Hello," she said, her voice husky from sleep. “It's Jon. Thanks for picking up." "It's been a killer weekend," Stevie said over a yawn, wincing at the poor choice of adjectives. "I didn't get to bed until one." "It sounds like a war zone up there," Jon said. "I've been a little concerned about the kids' safety—and yours, too, of course. This AntiCrist is a real nut, a loose cannon. Somebody could get hurt." Stevie replied, "He's a crackpot, an amateur. He can't even spell antichrist." "Then why haven't the cops found him?” Jon replied sharply. "Stevie, my concern is, if AntiCrist can get to Bellardi, he can get to you too. I mean, the nut may blow up campaign headquarters or a hotel or an auditorium trying to hurt Bellardi, and you could get hurt or killed—and maybe the kids too. I just don't like it. That's all I have to say."
Stevie was flattered at her ex-husband's concern and rather surprised to hear him express it so pointedly. It occurred to Stevie that no one else she knew had voiced concern for her safety in the wake of AntiCrist's attacks. Hearing someone say with sincerity, "I'm worried about you," warmed her inside. The fact that these words came from her ex-husband—someone who was no longer required to care—made her appreciate them more.