November Mourns Read Free

though.”
    It was nice of her to say it anyhow. He wanted to believe, as the lust began to do a slow crawl through his guts, and was again surprised at how weak prison had made him in some ways.
    She took his hand and drew him farther from the others until they reached an outcropping of rock perched above the river. He kept seeing a pale hand gesturing to him from the corner of his eye, and he had to force himself not to turn. Maybe he’d totally flipped over the edge on C-Block, or maybe coming home again had done it. You didn’t need much of a push.
    Elfie rubbed her thumb over his knuckles—the nail a dusty blue of glitter—back and forth like settling a baby, the same as she’d always done in school after he’d been brawling. He wondered who she’d dated while he was gone, what new loves, regrets, and heartaches she’d found. He looked back and scanned the gathering to see if any guy was watching intently, somebody pouting, ready to yank a squirrel killer .22 from his pocket and come charging. But there was no one.
    “Have you been all right?” he asked, and hoped it didn’t sound too dull.
    But the way her face closed up, it must’ve. She held back her questions, her lasting dismay. Her thumb kept brushing over his knuckles, like she was trying to get into his skin and down into his blood. He didn’t know what the proper response was supposed to be.
    “Yes, I’ve been fine,” she said.
    “I’m glad.”
    The wind continued to heave and abate. Elfie nodded, her hair tangling under her chin, until she slipped it back behind her ears. It kept coiling, flowing toward his throat. You could find your paranoia anywhere.
    “I’m working at my father’s bait and tackle shop. I do his accounts and the books for a couple of other stores nearby. Chuckie Eagleclaw’s art gallery, Bardley Serret’s Rock Museum, and the Craftsman and Leather.”
    Shad almost said,
You were always good with numbers,
but managed to stop himself in time. It was something her father had told her from the start, because he never had anything important to say. Shad had watched Elf go to her pa and admit she was pregnant, asking for his help, and had heard the man say right then and there,
You should go to that banking school in Washatabe County, you always were good with numbers.
    Elfie started talking about Chuckie’s books and how you could beat the IRS, but Shad could barely hear her. Mags’s pale hand kept distracting him.
    “I kept your letters,” she said. “They were lovely. You write beautifully.”
    “I kept yours for a few months too.”
    It stopped her. “Only a few months?”
    “Well, somebody filched them.”
    She gave a sidelong glance. It was a natural enough reaction, this kind of fear, thinking there was somebody out there who’d read your mail, knew your home address. “Really?”
    “It’s what guys in the joint do. They’re bored. I read a lot of novels and used the envelopes as bookmarks. I’d reread your letters every couple of days, but eventually someone got around to stealing the books.”
    “Did you know who did it?” she asked.
    “Sure. A guy they called Tushie Kline. He was always nosing around my bunk. Tush liked to cause little difficulties where he could. Inconveniences really, general annoyances. Nothing big, just the kind of crap that would ruin your afternoon.”
    She grew more interested, leaning in now, maybe a touch excited as her eyes grew more serious, hoping to hear about a shiv in the jugular. “Did you do anything about it?”
    “Like what?”
    “Did you hurt him?”
    This was the part where he could really push the story if he wanted, throw in all kinds of nasty action. Hanging somebody in the shower stalls with the elastic from their own underwear, setting them on fire and locking the cell door. Making a gun with a twelve-penny nail, a steel tube, and a rubber band.
    But he decided his time as a conversation piece was over. “I taught him how to read.”
    She drew her chin