Critical Reaction by Todd M. Johnson

asked about it, I assumed Kieran didn’t mention it. That’s why I hesitated to tell you.”
    This made no sense. “Why would they offer a settlement when he’s on the ropes?”
    The lawyer smiled. “I thought you’d find that interesting.”
    The slender lawyer turned up the sidewalk carrying her computer and files. As they drove away, Ryan was left with the impression that each hand was full of a burden big enough to overwhelm her.

    Poppy opened his eyes as he felt the bed creak and heard Suzy’s footsteps padding into the bathroom. He glanced at the clock: eleven a.m.
    Working the late shift, it wasn’t often he and Suzy shared the bed for so many hours together. He hoped his rough sleeping these past months hadn’t kept her awake again last night.
    He hadn’t had this much trouble sleeping since his first extended operation in the Navy aboard the USS New Jersey . Hehadn’t expected discomfort on the ship—it wasn’t like he was in a submarine. But after growing up in the open country of eastern Washington, even a battleship seemed confining.
    He’d brought back three things from his tour with the navy: satisfaction at his service, complete disinterest in ever sailing the ocean’s surface again, and his nickname—a shortening of “Popeye” that a midshipman slapped on him after he’d gone up three weight classes to win a boxing competition for the ship. The name followed him home when another local boy returned from the New Jersey to Hanford a year after Poppy.
    No one but Poppy recalled the name’s origins, but Poppy didn’t mind. He remembered its source with pride. Besides, he’d never been that crazy about “Pat” anyway.
    Poppy rolled to his feet and headed toward the living room. The headache was mercifully absent this morning. Even his chest felt clearer than it usually did when he awoke.
    He picked up the paper from the front stoop and ambled back to the dining room table. His computer was there and Poppy opened it to check his emails.
    Amidst the junk mail was an email from Covington headquarters. Poppy opened it.
    He had sent a total of five emails to Covington HQ the past eight months. The first had been a respectful note about more testing to see if he’d picked up radiation in the LB5 explosion. That one had gone completely unanswered. Poppy’s second went further, also asking whether he was going to be interviewed about what he’d seen and heard that night. When that one and a couple others were ignored, he’d dropped the courtesy a month before, reminding “to whom it might concern” of the gunshot his partner had fired that appeared nowhere in the newspaper reports about Covington’s investigation report.
    This was the first reply. Oddly, it appeared to have come from the Covington Personnel Office.
Dear Mr. Martin—
Thank you for the information you have shared in your emails these past months. Please be assured that your perspectives and experiences that night have been fully considered. . . .
    He skipped to the bottom.
Regarding further radiation testing, the study completed by top nuclear experts has confirmed the absence of a radiation release at LB5 . . .
    Nothing about interviewing him about that night. No mention of his repeated questions about Lew’s gunshot. No offer of examinations. Just more bureau-blather.
    He looked at the bottom of the email. There was no name assigned the message—just “Covington Nuclear Human Resources.”
    So who was even dealing with this mess?
    Poppy spent the next fifteen minutes preparing a reply. If they thought he was going to stop bugging them based on an email like that, they’d know better soon. He finished the note, read it quickly, then pushed Send.
    “Hon, get dressed,” Suzy said as she came into the dining room. He looked up at her from the computer.
    Prettier than ever, he thought—even with worrying about him. “And wipe that scowl from your face,” she finished, smiling. “You’re taking me to