Every Last Cuckoo Read Free Page B

two men hauled a couple of boys roughly from another car. People gathered suddenly from the houses close by, from passing cars, from nowhere, from the air. They stood with their arms crossed. A trooper handcuffed one boy, while another trooper and one of the civilians threw the second boy roughly to the ground after a short scuffle. Murmurs raced through the crowd. The car had been stolen. The boys were on drugs. They weren’t from here; an alert had been issued in New Hampshire. The car had New Hampshire plates. That man over there, that big guy holdingthe boy to the ground, had a police scanner on at home all the time. He was the one who called it in. Good for him. Serves the punks right.
    Sarah’s eyes darted over the scene, lighting on each face in turn, always returning to the skinny, frightened boy on the ground. The conscientious beefy civilian had pinned his arms and planted a knee in the small of his back. The boy’s ear and cheek were pressed against the pavement, hard up against grit and loose rock. He was furious; he was crying. Sarah listened to the crowd’s self-satisfied judgments and easy condemnation.
    Charles strode angrily over to the man who held the boy to the ground. “For chrissakes, Bill, get off that kid. Your knee’s right on his kidneys. He can’t breathe with his arms yanked back and all your weight on him.” He gestured at one of the troopers. “You take over. Unless you want a dead kid on your hands.”
    Bill, big as a linebacker, started to hurl a protest, but the trooper motioned to him to be quiet and get up. Then he pulled the boy up and held him by the upper arm. The car thief’s face was scratched, streaked with dirt and tears. He was painfully thin, no more than sixteen or seventeen.
    â€œShame on you both,” Charles said to the men, his voice soft with disgust. He looked at his neighbors gathered there and said, “Happy Thanksgiving, everybody.” He caught Amos’s eye, and Amos lifted a thumb into the air.
    Charles and Sarah climbed into their car and left. Sarah fought tears, shaken by grief too great for the occasion. It caught her off guard. Charles reached over and took her hand, and they rode home together.
    It was still early, only seven thirty, when they reentered theirkitchen. No one else was up, not even Hannah, so tired last night, so late getting to bed.
    Sarah put the pies to cool. Wordlessly Charles drew her into his arms and kissed her. He slid his hands from her shoulders down along her spine, gently massaging her back before clasping her hips and pulling her in close. It had been a long time, at least a month. Sarah was a little surprised that desire should choose this occasion, but not this hour. Intimacy often found them in the morning, when their energy was strongest.
    She climbed the stairs with Charles, mentally moving her holiday chores around to accommodate this unscheduled break. They entered their room holding hands, then took off their clothes and unmade their bed as if for sleep. Sarah knew this early morning love was about comfort silently sought and silently given. It wasn’t she who needed it, having recovered from her reaction to the scene in town.
    How many times had she and Charles come together like this, in how many ways? This time was slow, there was no urgency. Whatever happened happened. Their bodies and desires had changed, but almost in tandem. Charles and Sarah took their time now, as if time were still limitless.
    Charles was no longer as avid or athletic as he had been when young, but he was no less inventive. Sarah loved his patience. Her orgasms, like his own, took longer to achieve, when they happened at all, but the feelings were the same. What was new, what now entered Sarah each time with Charles himself, was a blend of gratitude and anxiety.
We are blessed,
she thought,
fortunate that we have had this, that we have it still, though each time could be the last.
    Charles reached