Archangel by Paul Watkins

town. Few changes occurred without Alicia’s being consulted. The town had forged an emotional dependence on Alicia that Mackenzie felt sure could never be replaced by someone else.
    That, thought Mackenzie, is genuine power. Then he thought about his own power in the town. It seemed more heavy-handed. More obvious. More the way of a man. And he knew his way bought him enemies, while her methods never brought a ripple to the surface of the calm she carried with her. “Can Coltrane be trusted?” he asked her suddenly.
    “Trusted? Well, good Lord, yes. Your father trusted him, and as far as I know your father trusted almost no one. Why are you asking that? Are you thinking that he might have spiked the tree?”
    Mackenzie grunted. It worried him that he did not have anything on Coltrane, the way he did on most people. After the tree-spiking, it seemed more as if Coltrane had something on him. This was a new sensation for Mackenzie, heavy and sharp in his stomach, as if he had swallowed a piece of glass. He had a bad feeling that Coltrane was going to play a larger role in his life than he had ever wanted him to. Mackenzie drank more coffee and felt pain like a fist clenching around his brain.
    Alicia laughed at him. “You trust Coltrane more than you trust yourself.”
    Mackenzie tried to get himself annoyed, but he realized she was right. He looked at her while she absentmindedly picked at her sweater. Mackenzie thought how similar she looked to when he first realized he loved her, back in their college days, sitting just as she was now and picking at the white chenille patch on his dark-blue varsity lacrosse sweater. But her absentmindedness was only a veil. Alicia always knew more than she seemed to know. It was the only thing about her that Mackenzie had never truly figured out. He felt fortunate that morning. If Alicia believed Coltrane was trustworthy, then he believed it too. He began to feel that his plan would work out. The small discomforts of his life seemed far away.
    Alicia looked up at him and smiled.
    He smiled back and looked away, embarrassed for a moment at how clearly she could see the desire in his face.
    “I’m glad to see you reading the
Forest Sentinel
,” she said. “At least now you’ll know what they’re talking about.”
    “I was reading it”—he folded the paper and let it drop to the floor—“because this is the final issue.”
    Alicia’s eyebrows bobbed with surprise. “How do you mean?”
    “I’m working on a little plan.”
    “When are you not? But what exactly do you mean, Jonah?” She knew even as she asked the question that if he had not told her outright, he would not tell her at all. Once he had decided to be secretive about something, no amount of badgering could prize it out of him, and he enjoyed watching all attempts fail.
    “You’ll see soon enough,” he told her. “I’m just waiting for the right moment to spring the trap.”
    “Don’t for God’s sake bully her, Jonah. That’s one thing you can’t do with Madeleine. It would backfire in your face.”
    “I think that now might be a good time for her to move on.”
    “Good for you, maybe.”
    “She’s to blame for Pfeiffer’s death as much as if she hammered the nail in herself.”
    “That’s ridiculous, Jonah, and you know it.”
    “Sooner or later, people will see it that way.” I just bet ten thousand dollars on it, he thought.
    “Be fair, Jonah. That’s all I’m asking. She’s not like the people you’re used to dealing with. You can’t just go in and trade bodyblows with her until one of you drops dead. It’s precisely where you think you’re strongest that you’ll find out you’re not.” Alicia sensed that he was digging in again, so she changed the subject. “Pfeiffer’s funeral is coming up,” Alicia said. “You’ll have to say something.”
    “I’ll tell them what they want to hear. Nobody ever remembers what gets said at a time like that anyway.”
    “As long as you