Preheat oven to 350°F.
Turn dough onto a lightly floured surface and divide into three pieces. Form each piece into a loaf and place in 3 lightly greased 9 x 5-inch bread pans. Cover and let rise until nearly doubled, about 1 hour.
Bake at 350°F for about 35 minutes or until the loaves sound hollow when tapped.
CHAPTER SIX
Summer 1988
Rourke McKnight tried not to act too excited about going to summer camp. He was afraid that if he showed even the smallest amount of pleasurable anticipation, his father would forbid him to go. During the limo ride down Avenue of the Americas to Grand Central Station, Rourke sat quietly, watching the traffic through tinted, bulletproof windows. It was raining, the hard, summer kind of rain that caused geysers of steam to rise from the asphalt.
His best friend, Joey Santini, was riding in the front seat with Joey’s dad. Mr. Santini had been the McKnight family driver since the beginning of time, as far as Rourke knew. It was just a total stroke of luck that Joey was Rourke’s age and that father and son—there was no Mrs. Santini, not anymore—lived in the service quarters of the McKnights’ building. This was a good thing, since otherwise Rourke would have grown up with no one to play with except Mrs. Grummond’s Dandie Dinmont terriers. Although the sliding glass privacy window was shut, Rourke could see Joey and Mr. Santini laughing and talking the whole way, in contrast to the quiet, tense occupants of the luxurious back of the limo.
Even though he was twelve years old, Rourke had never been to camp before. His father was against it, of course, and when his father said no, that was that. Period. End of story.
But everything changed when two things happened the same week—the Bellamy family made a big contribution to the senator’s campaign, and Drayton McKnight was given a rare appointment to a committee that was going on a lengthy junket to the Far East to discuss trade agreements that would benefit his district.
Now it made perfect sense to send Rourke away for the summer, to the Bellamys’ Camp Kioga in the Catskills wilderness. When Rourke’s mother was young, she had gone to Camp Kioga, and she thought Rourke should, too.
Rourke had to act all bummed out that he’d be away from his parents all summer. He had to pretend he was just as worried about his own well-being as his father was. He even had to pretend that he wasn’t excited about the fact that Joey would be going to camp, too, so the boys could look out for each other. Rourke knew for a fact that this camp cost an arm and a leg, which his family could easily afford. Not Joey’s, though. He was going to camp on scholarship, which meant Rourke’s father was secretly picking up the tab.
Not out of the goodness of his heart, though. Rourke’s father was completely paranoid. That was what Rourke figured, anyway. The guy was freaked. He was sending Joey to camp so Rourke wouldn’t be alone among strangers. In a way, worrying about attacks on his family probably made the senator feel important. And that was what Drayton McKnight was all about—feeling important.
That, and being perfect. No, thought Rourke. Looking perfect. Looking like you had the perfect family and the perfect life. “Make me proud” was the phrase Rourke heard most often from his father. It was a sort of code. By now, Rourke had figured that out. It meant he had to win at every sport he played. Get straight A’s in school. Learn to use his looks and confident smile to win people over so they would vote for his father each election year.
All that stuff, it was so easy. He was big and strong and had no problem conquering any sport he tackled. And getting good grades? All you really had to do was listen to what the teacher said and figure out what he wanted you to say back to him. Rourke was a politician’s son. He knew how to do that.
He couldn’t wait to get to Camp Kioga, where nobody cared what his grades were. He pinched the inside of his lip between his teeth to keep from smiling.
“Your hair is too long,” his father said suddenly. “Julia, why didn’t he get a haircut before we let him run wild all summer?”
Rourke didn’t move. This was a crucial moment. On a whim, his father might decide they needed to head right back uptown, to the ancient barbershop where electric clippers were used to buzz white sidewalls around the ears of hapless boys.
He kept staring out the window. Raindrops raced backward across the glass, the silver tracks like streams of mercury. He spotted two of them that were neck and neck, and picked one as the winner, tensing as it pulled ahead and then fell back. Finally, the raindrop merged with the others and he lost track.
“He did have a haircut,” Rourke’s mother said. She was using her soothing, reassuring voice. The one she used when she didn’t want Rourke’s dad to get upset. “It’s the same cut he always gets.”
“He looks like a girl,” the senator remarked. He leaned forward, closer to Rourke. “You want to spend the summer looking like a girl?”
“No, sir.” Rourke kept staring at the rain-smeared window. He held his breath, praying his dad wouldn’t order the driver to turn uptown.
“It’s fine, really,” Rourke’s mother said.
Way to tell him, Mom, Rourke thought cynically. Way to stand up to the bastard.
“Mildred Van Deusen told me all three of her boys will be on the same train,” his mother continued. “Rourke, you ought to see if you can find them. Maybe you can sit with them.”
Bingo, Rourke thought, watching his father’s interest shift. Rourke had
