Necessary Evil Read Free

attractive – not that it really mattered. There was
little time for that sort of thing anyway.
    I didn’t stand still for long. I’d
forgotten, as I usually did, that insects like the moisture around the boggy
river’s edge. They swarmed, I swatted, and then I started to run again.
    I’ve been running since last summer, and
even I have noticed a marked improvement in my endurance. I run for my health,
my figure, to relieve stress, and to give me time in the morning before I have
to face the day. It’s not the only reason I run every day, but I didn’t like to
think of that other reason, so I would put that aside, too, and run on.
    Sometimes I wondered if I wasn’t trying to
outrun my past, if the punishment I took on the hard-packed trails wasn’t some
form of penance for crimes committed but unwritten, a forgotten neglect of
duty, or a violation of a social custom. Perhaps it was a form of bargain, a
sacrifice on the altar to the God of the Old Testament – I will flagellate
myself in this way every morning and You keep the
tenuous balance of my life from shifting back into chaos.
    That was blasphemy and I knew better. I’m
a Roman Catholic and we don’t believe in bargaining with God. He knows best and
we, as good and willing servants, do our duty with hope and joy and
expectation. I told myself that’s what Aunt Susanna and I were doing: our duty,
looking with expectation towards a bright future.
    Yet every morning, I tied my sneakers and
worked out my penance on the unforgiving trails.
     

Chapter
2:
     
    I first learned that Maddox was dead when I
came into the kitchen from my run that morning. I was beet-red, drenched in
sweat and early morning fog, and ravenous.
    The kitchen was large, silent, and clean.
Decorated in shades of gray and cream, it looked almost institutional in the
mornings, but there were so many warm memories here that I felt both at home
and alien at the same time.
    Aunt Susanna was sitting on one of the
stools at the counter, so quiet and still that she was nearly lost in the
palette. Her blonde and white hair was pinned in the usual milkmaid braids
around the crown of her head, only a little mussed by a night’s sleep. Her gray
silk robe with the pink and black Asian print had aged well, but it was too big
for her now. Folds of fabric spilled on the counter as she crouched over her
laptop, emphasizing her recent, involuntary weight loss. Engrossed in her
reading, she didn’t look up to acknowledge me, but there was an extra mug of
steaming coffee on the counter beside hers.
    Her walker was parked within easy reach,
but under the lip of the counter, out of her line of sight. She hated it almost
as much as I did, and I felt a twinge of sympathy as I skirted around it. The
walker was used. Our doctor had procured from a woman who, he assured us,
recovered just fine from the same surgery. He thought it would help, but it
didn’t. The walker offended my aunt’s sense of autonomy, and the cheerful bunny
stickers that the previous owner decorated it with only made things worse.
    I tossed my iPod on the counter, and took
the mug of coffee gratefully. You’re supposed to have something healthy after
an intense workout, like water, juice, or something with electrolytes. I always
rebelliously opted for caffeine, as though striking back against a strict
coach: You can force me to run, but you cannot control what I drink.
    I took a sip and recognized the bitter
brew of Dark French Roast, too strong for my tastes. I added milk, then reached
past my aunt for the sugar shaker. She noticed and shifted a little to make
room.
    “Sorry, I forgot,” she said.
    “No worries.”
    I glanced at her breakfast plate as I
shook crystal granules into my cup. Toast, unbuttered, and burnt again. There
was a time when she would have turned up her nose at such fare, calling it a
poor excuse for a meal. Had she come upon Uncle Michael or myself eating that,
she would have rolled up her sleeves and whipped up