In Reach Read Free Page A

down, turn her face into the woman’s neck, clench her arms around the woman’s waist. The two of them maneuver out to the Chevy, jerky but together, like dancing circus bears. The girl doesn’t look up, so he puts his car in gear and heads out.
    He threads his way through a few streets. That girl has the same problems she had two minutes ago, make no mistake about that. One hug isn’t going to fix whatever’s wrong. Still. Someone cared enough to come after her. He’s thinking about Mark accusing him of being afraid. All along, he thought leaving was the coward’s way out. He sees now, you can run away even if you stay in one place.
    He’s staring at himself, down a long corridor with shut doors, and none of them have doorknobs. He sees how it will be. He’ll pack away the lamp that belonged to Mary and Dave’s mother because it reminds him, of what? That they know what they must have always known? That he isn’t worthy of their friendship? Dave will die, and he’ll be too proud to attend the funeral, too afraid that Mary will see him and reproach him for his absence. Not long after, Mary will be gone, too. He’ll walk by their house and wonder, did she mean to be his friend? Did she tell him that story to say, I see you and I don’t care. Or did she tell him, as he had thought at the time, as a warning. What was she saying, come close or stay away? For him, it has always been stay away, until by now, he walks himself away and shuts the gate after.
    He’s sitting in his car, idling at a stop sign, thinking about a strange girl who turned her head into the soft neck of someone and cried. He could, he is thinking, show up on Mary’s doorstep with her mother’s lamp. He could hold it out to her, an offering. He has no idea what she would do or say, that’s a risk. But he could do this one thing. He could give it back to her. Restored.

Judgment Day
    Esther Paxton can’t stand to see Leland sitting there in his overalls, his hands worrying the crocheted doilies on the recliner’s armrests. It’s Tuesday, and Leland sat there all day yesterday. Sunday, and Saturday, too, and the week before that. Leland’s sat in that chair all the way back to June 13, when the Reach Gazette printed the story. The phone has stopped ringing, or else Leland leaves it off the hook. She doesn’t care. Who is there to talk to anyway, unless Rosalee calls, but she won’t, because Larry’s still threatening to sue.
    Esther’s a strong-looking woman, a no-nonsense face and body to go with it, glasses and sturdy hands. Her lips clamp down tight. She wears low-heeled shoes, no jewelry, no makeup. Can’t be bothered with it. She’s let her hair go gray. When she taught the Bible class at the First Baptist Church, people admired her, but they didn’t speak up much, and that has been the story of her life. She’s outside of things, and she doesn’t know why.
    She opens a box of Raisin Bran and gets milk from the refrigerator. Her mouth feels dry and she craves orange juice, but she’d have to go to the store. Everybody’s heard by now. The story is all over the panhandle, their bankruptcy, unpaid farmers, rumors of embezzlement. The thing is to stay strong until they can holdtheir heads up again. Leland sits there, not even trying. She can’t forgive him for this final betrayal, never mind everything else that’s come. She has no patience with that kind of indulgence, languishing in a leather recliner in the spacious den they built three years ago, not even opening the blinds, breathing in the foul air he breathed out yesterday, expecting her to rally and bring him food. She’s in this too, in case he can’t remember, but he’s always been like that. He’s taken a lot of fuss, coddling, wants his meat loaf without onions, the collars of his shirts starched. She didn’t mind when the little extras made him notice her, but now he’s oblivious to everything. She’s hidden his gun.
    She’s tired of calling him to the