Ill Will

Ill Will Read Free Page A

Book: Ill Will Read Free
Author: J.M. Redmann
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what I wanted to say, to tell her no, she couldn’t fall apart, because if my friends couldn’t hold it together I wasn’t sure I could. It was the so-called little things, the day after day after day, long lines and longer lines, starting to drive some place and realizing it’s not there anymore, another person who came back but decided not to stay, all those lost pieces of the life we used to have. Katrina was over; the news cycle had moved on. The flood waters had gone away; what they had left was still here—those of us who couldn’t forget because every day in some way, we had to remember.
    “So there are dangerous moments when I long for…I don’t even know what. Not to be here. Part of the most despised police force in the country. Having to take a report on the crooks who stole a new a/c compressor a block from where we’re rebuilding our house. Frozen dinner after frozen dinner because who knows when Alex will get home and I can’t be bothered to cook for myself.”
    “Hey, you get the groceries, I’ll cook for you.”
    “Did I mention the kind, sensitive friends who are always there for you?”
    “We are. As long as you don’t try to arrest us.”
    “I wasn’t trying to arrest you.” She added, “You’d be in handcuffs now if I had been.”
    She needed something from me I wasn’t sure I had to give. I simply said, “Joanne, you’ll be okay.” I put my arms around her and hugged her.
    We held it for a moment. Too long. Then broke away.
    “Gotta make groceries,” I mumbled.
    “Yeah. I hear a microwave calling my name.” She took a step away, then said, “I mean it. Forget what I said. I think something and it sounds like an escape, then I say it and realize it’s just another trap.”
    I watched her get in her car, then didn’t want to watch her anymore. I knew too well what she meant about dangerous thoughts. For one horrific moment, Katrina had unmoored all of us, thrown us helter-skelter, a terrifying freedom. If we couldn’t come back to New Orleans, where could we go? But some of us had fallen to earth here, on the flooded ground. Much as we tried to reclaim our old lives—or build new ones—we weren’t sure the ground would hold us. Everything had changed, and maybe it had changed so far and in ways we couldn’t even see that we’d never find our way back.
    As she pulled away, I took out my cell phone. There would be no grocery run tonight. I was at the point that I’d shoot myself before I’d cross Canal Street today. A small grocery store in the French Quarter had opened, but parking was impossible. I occasionally made forays there on my bike, but it was near dark and I knew myself well enough to know I would not go home and leave again. I called a place on Frenchmen Street and ordered two shrimp po-boys. If Cordelia didn’t like it, she could go to the grocery store.
    That was part of what we’d lost and were yet to come to terms with. Before Katrina, there were two grocery stores within about ten blocks of our house. It was no problem for me to swing by them, even on busy days. That was our pattern. I’d get the food and do most of the cooking, since my hours were more flexible than hers, and she’d take the major part of the cleanup.
    With her clinic destroyed and rebuilding still up in the air, she’d taken work where she could find it. There was a need for doctors, so great it was part of the problem. Cordelia worked longer hours than she had before the storm. So from her point of view, it probably still seemed like I should continue to do what we’d always done. It just wasn’t working for me.
    She was tired more often—or so she claimed. But her tiredness had stretched since before the holidays, now months past. I’d suggested depression, but she’d blown that off.
    Just one more fucking thing to deal with in a fucked-up city. Cold shrimp po-boys wouldn’t make anything any better. I started my car and drove away.

Chapter Two
     
    “I thought you were

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