possibly expect you to show up."
"Sure, she could. And she mil. I'm foreperson,
Mom." Her mother had finally seen the wound on her arm last night in the ER, but Maggie didn't want to remind her, so she was careful to keep the bandage covered by the sleeve of her robe as she poured milk on her cereal. "I want to be there. It's an event." She smiled at her mother. "Felicity doesn't have a lot of those, Mom. I don't want to miss it."
Uncertain, her mother turned to Maggie's father. "Martin? What do you think?"
"Well, it's being held outside. I suppose the grounds are safe enough. If she's supposed to be there, she should go."
"But you said ..."
"I said you should forget about restoring that dump and use the money you've raised for a recreation center. God knows the kids in Felicity could use one. I didn't say Maggie should retreat to her room. Anyway, it's a week away, Sheila. Let's not worry about it now, okay? Besides," smiling at Maggie from around the corner of his newspaper, "she's had her quota of accidents for this year, right, Megs?"
"Right." She hoped. This was probably not a good time to inform them that Sheriff Donovan had his doubts about just how "accidental" the collapsing beam had been.
Their attention turned then to Maggie and how she was feeling, and the discussion ended.
But as she left the table and made her way gingerly up the stairs to her room to get dressed, she thought about what her mother had said. About
how coincidental it seemed that two disasters had taken place in the old courthouse in one day.
That it did. Weird. Creepy, especially when Sheriff Donovan had hinted that one of those disasters might have had a little help. If that was true, maybe someone was deliberately sabotaging the committee's plans. And if that was true, someone must hate the old courthouse a lot.
Why would they? It was just a building.
It was a good thing the ceremony honoring the removal of Lady Justice from the top of the building was taking place outside. If it were inside, Maggie honestly didn't think she could attend. She wasn't ready to walk back into that building. And thinking that gave her the same annoyed feeling she'd had in the basement, that she wasn't as brave as she'd been when she was little.
Maybe that wasn't bravery, she told herself as she reached the top of the stairs. Maybe it was stupidity. I just hadn't learned enough yet to be afraid.
But now I have. I've learned that ceilings collapse, with or without help, and kitchens explode, and people sneak up on your own private property in broad daylight. I'd be stupid not to be afraid. No wonder people say that ignorance is bliss. It is.
L.
belly puffing in and out under his tan shirt, disgusting little snoring noises escaping from his open mouth. Even if he woke up, he was half deaf and couldn't possibly have heard what Dante and I were saying. And the other cells were all empty.
"The whole county would be mad at anyone who came forward now," Dante told me. He was sitting on the faded gray-and-white-striped mattress on his bunk. It hung from chains fastened into the wall. He sat with his hands folded in his lap, his head down, his feet in sneakers kicking at the earthen floor. "And not just because that person killed Christy. Because they'd obstructed justice all this time, making everyone go through this whole stupid, useless trial."
He lifted his head. His blue eyes were empty, almost as if the Dante I'd known had already disappeared, even though he hadn't actually been taken away yet. "It's very expensive, you know, putting on a trial. If someone came forward now and said they knew that I hadn't done it because they'd done it themselves, the first thing everyone in Greene County would think is how much money they'd wasted on my trial. Next, they'd be mad because this new person claiming to be guilty would be say-ing they'd all been wrong. The sheriff, the deputies who searched our farm, the police here in town, the DA, the judge, the jury,
"Sure, she could. And she mil. I'm foreperson,
Mom." Her mother had finally seen the wound on her arm last night in the ER, but Maggie didn't want to remind her, so she was careful to keep the bandage covered by the sleeve of her robe as she poured milk on her cereal. "I want to be there. It's an event." She smiled at her mother. "Felicity doesn't have a lot of those, Mom. I don't want to miss it."
Uncertain, her mother turned to Maggie's father. "Martin? What do you think?"
"Well, it's being held outside. I suppose the grounds are safe enough. If she's supposed to be there, she should go."
"But you said ..."
"I said you should forget about restoring that dump and use the money you've raised for a recreation center. God knows the kids in Felicity could use one. I didn't say Maggie should retreat to her room. Anyway, it's a week away, Sheila. Let's not worry about it now, okay? Besides," smiling at Maggie from around the corner of his newspaper, "she's had her quota of accidents for this year, right, Megs?"
"Right." She hoped. This was probably not a good time to inform them that Sheriff Donovan had his doubts about just how "accidental" the collapsing beam had been.
Their attention turned then to Maggie and how she was feeling, and the discussion ended.
But as she left the table and made her way gingerly up the stairs to her room to get dressed, she thought about what her mother had said. About
how coincidental it seemed that two disasters had taken place in the old courthouse in one day.
That it did. Weird. Creepy, especially when Sheriff Donovan had hinted that one of those disasters might have had a little help. If that was true, maybe someone was deliberately sabotaging the committee's plans. And if that was true, someone must hate the old courthouse a lot.
Why would they? It was just a building.
It was a good thing the ceremony honoring the removal of Lady Justice from the top of the building was taking place outside. If it were inside, Maggie honestly didn't think she could attend. She wasn't ready to walk back into that building. And thinking that gave her the same annoyed feeling she'd had in the basement, that she wasn't as brave as she'd been when she was little.
Maybe that wasn't bravery, she told herself as she reached the top of the stairs. Maybe it was stupidity. I just hadn't learned enough yet to be afraid.
But now I have. I've learned that ceilings collapse, with or without help, and kitchens explode, and people sneak up on your own private property in broad daylight. I'd be stupid not to be afraid. No wonder people say that ignorance is bliss. It is.
L.
belly puffing in and out under his tan shirt, disgusting little snoring noises escaping from his open mouth. Even if he woke up, he was half deaf and couldn't possibly have heard what Dante and I were saying. And the other cells were all empty.
"The whole county would be mad at anyone who came forward now," Dante told me. He was sitting on the faded gray-and-white-striped mattress on his bunk. It hung from chains fastened into the wall. He sat with his hands folded in his lap, his head down, his feet in sneakers kicking at the earthen floor. "And not just because that person killed Christy. Because they'd obstructed justice all this time, making everyone go through this whole stupid, useless trial."
He lifted his head. His blue eyes were empty, almost as if the Dante I'd known had already disappeared, even though he hadn't actually been taken away yet. "It's very expensive, you know, putting on a trial. If someone came forward now and said they knew that I hadn't done it because they'd done it themselves, the first thing everyone in Greene County would think is how much money they'd wasted on my trial. Next, they'd be mad because this new person claiming to be guilty would be say-ing they'd all been wrong. The sheriff, the deputies who searched our farm, the police here in town, the DA, the judge, the jury,
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