It was Corky’s idea. Something about him being retarded makes it so’s God can “dial direct,” I guess.
After he said this it seemed kinda chickenshit to not go through with it. Pascal got the wheelchair up from the cellar, Donna found her old lap-shawl she used to sit with before the latest stroke. When I lifted her into the chair I was amazed at how brittle her body felt through the nightgown, like a gunnysack of chicken bones. I belted her into the chair with a pair of black stockings from her nun days and off we went.
