for Ned over at the station.â
The moment their hands touch, just like that, Opal can feel her heart swell in its cage of bone, can feel her pulse race. No mistaking the spiking of chemistry. She sees trouble coming, stretching ahead like ten miles of bad road.
âIâve seen you when youâve come by the garage,â he says in a deep voice, a voice with the hint of song to it, the kind of voice that can thrill you later just by recalling it. She knows for sure she hasnât seen him before. Like she could forget.
She wants the brownies but because he has suggested them, she grabs the box of eclairs. âGotta go,â she says. âNice to meet ya.â
âYouâre out late,â Dorothy says. âWhereâs that boy of yours?â
âSleeping,â Opal says. âWith the sitter.â Her hand still feels tingly from Ty Millerâs touch.
âCount your blessings.â Dorothy nods toward the rack of tabloids at the end of the counter. âIâll tell you, my heart goes out to her.â
âWho?â Opal says. Her heart has still not returned to its regular beat. He must think sheâs an idiot, racing off like that.
Gotta go.
Jesus.
âHer. You havenât heard about it? Itâs been on the news for the last day and a half.â
âOur television isnât hooked up yet.â Opal looks back over her shoulder, but Ty is nowhere in sight.
âItâs tragic. Makes you wonder what the world is coming to.â Dorothy points to the headline above the photo of a young woman:
Distraught mother begs: Please return my sons.
âItâs a crazy world. Something like this happening.â She reaches over and grabs the paper off the rack, folds it open to the centerfold. âThose are her boys.â
Opal wants to look away. The older of the two children is a sweet-faced boy with huge brown eyes. He looks the same age as Zack. There are other pictures: a childâs birthday party, a full-color photo taken in front of a Christmas tree. Opal searches the four smiling facesâmother, father, boysâbut can not detect the slightest omen in that photo of any trouble to come.
âKidnapped,â Dorothy announces, dragging the box of eclairs over the scanner. âIn Texas. By a Mexican. He jumped right into her car when she was stopped at a red light.â
âGod.â
Zack.
Had she locked the door when she left? She tries to visualize herself turning the key.
âHe forced her out of the car at gunpoint,â Dorothy continues. âThen he took off with those two poor children still sleeping in the backseat. The mother was on the news this morning, crying. Pleading with the man to bring back her boys.â She holds up the paper. âYou want this?â
âNo.â The last thing in the world Opal wants is anything to do with the paper or the tragedy it holds, as if the disaster could leak out, taint her.
Dorothy takes a ten from Opal, hands her change. âThatâs Texas for you. Course Iâm not saying the same thing couldnât happen here. You just never know. The worldâs turned crazy. I blame it on drugs.â
Would Zack even wake if someone broke in?
âWeâve started a collection.â Dorothy indicates a coffee can by the register. Someone has cut a slot in the plastic lid.
âCollection?â
âFor a reward. Thereâs a fund. Weâre sending a check at the end of next week.â
Opal stuffs her change through the slot.
FOR SURE SHE LOCKED THE DOOR. SHE SEES HERSELF DOING it. The light at the intersection of Main and Maple blinks yellow, and as she slows, she imagines Zack in the backseat, imagines a man approaching the car, wrenching open the door, pointing a pistol at her, sliding into the seat beside her, ordering her to drive. Could she stay calm? Would she panic? Would she dare try anything heroic? That sort of thing works in the movies, but in real
Sean Platt, David Wright
Rose Cody
Cynan Jones
P. T. Deutermann
A. Zavarelli
Jaclyn Reding
Stacy Dittrich
Wilkie Martin
Geraldine Harris
Marley Gibson