The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
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“OK,” she said. 
“I’ve got a place in the city,” Michael said. “Is it all right if we go there or should it be 
dinner and drinks at a restaurant?” 
“I’m not hungry,” Kay said. 
They drove toward New York in silence for a while. “Did you get your degree?” Michael 
asked. 
“Yes,” Kay said. “I’m teaching grade school in my hometown now. Did they find the man 
who really killed the policeman, is that why you were able to come home?” 
For a moment Michael didn’t answer. “Yes, they did,” he said. “It was in all the New York 
papers. Didn’t you read about it?” 
Kay laughed with the relief of him denying he was a murderer. “We only get The New 
York Times up in our town,” she said. “I guess it was buried back in page eighty-nine. If 
I’d read about it I’d have called your mother sooner.” She paused and then said, “It’s 
funny, the way your mother used to talk, I almost believed you had done it. And just 
before you came, while we were drinking coffee, she told me about that crazy man who 
confessed.” 
Michael said, “Maybe my mother did believe it at first.” 
“Your own mother?” Kay asked. 
Michael grinned. “Mothers are like cops. They always believe the worst.” 
Michael parked the car in a garage on Mulberry Street where the owner seemed to 
know him. He took Kay around the corner to what looked like a fairly decrepit 
brownstone house which fitted into the rundown neighborhood. Michael had a key to the 
front door and when they went inside Kay saw that it was as expensively and 
comfortably furnished as a millionaire’s town house. Michael led her to the upstairs 
apartment which consisted of an enormous living room, a huge kitchen and door that led 
to the bedroom. In one corner of the living room was a bar and Michael mixed them both 
a drink. They sat on a sofa together and Michael said quietly, “We might as well go into 
the bedroom.” Kay took a long pull from her drink and smiled at him. “Yes,” she said. 
For Kay the lovemaking was almost like it had been before except that Michael was 
rougher, more direct, not as tender as he had been. As if he were on guard against her. 
But she didn’t want to complain. It would wear off. In a funny way, men were more 
sensitive in a situation like this, she thought. She had found making love to Michael after 

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