abruptly, vanishing, leaving
her standing there wondering what to do, with her red-tipped hands still in the box that held his life savings.
She could call out to him. And then what?
She could close the box and go to her room. And then what?
He wanted her to take the money. He’d said as much. He’d given her permission and made it clear that he wouldn’t hold her
responsible for stealing. Why he wanted her to take it didn’t make any sense. Or she convinced herself that it didn’t make
sense because it helped her avoid the truth. Really, it made too much sense. But in the panic that returned to her as she
grabbed the bundles of bills, she wouldn’t let herself think clearly enough to understand that she was capable right then
of understanding more than she would have thought possible.
She didn’t allow herself to think of what Mason Jackson had been through over the course of his long, hard life. She didn’t
consider the gold band on his finger. She didn’t let the ring call to mind what Georgie had told her about the wife who’d
left Mason after their little girl had fallen through the ice of the Tuskee. She didn’t think about the little girl. She didn’t
think about the frigid water flowing below the ice. She didn’t stop to remember how one day three years earlier Swill and
Mason had lifted her by her elbows out of the cold creek. All these thoughts could have come to her vividly right then, yet
she didn’t let them. She was too busy stuffing the money into an empty paper bag, frantic to get out of there.
She’d have to use two bags if she was going to take all the money. But she wasn’t going to take all the money. She wasn’t
so cruel that she’d leave him with nothing. She’d leave at least half of it behind — her parting gift and her only way of
apologizing to the man who had been so kind to her.
And then, watch how she runs out of the house in her bare feet, running away from this chapter of her life, running along
the path that fishermen had made in the swamp grass.
She followed the river a couple of miles until she reached the Route 36 bridge. She climbed up the sloping bank, slipping
once on the wet grass, muddying her nice yellow dress. She started walking along the road, keeping just inside the gravel
edge to avoid the sharp little stones.
A few cars sped right past her. She kept walking, minding her own business. But when she turned at the loud approach of a
station wagon, the driver slowed and the children sitting in the back waved and called something to her. The car stopped a
few yards ahead along the road.
She jogged up to the passenger door, which swung open before she reached it. A sullen, pimply boy sat in the passenger seat,
and a man with a broad, sunburnt face and buzz-cut hair was at the wheel. The man leaned over the boy and said to Sally, “Need
a lift?”
“Sure, thanks.”
“Go on,” the man said to the sullen boy, who dragged himself out the door without acknowledging Sally. She climbed into the
seat while the boy squeezed himself into the back beside the other children.
The man started driving.
“Where you heading?”
“Rondo,” she said.
“Where’s that?”
“Downriver.”
The man had never heard of it. But of course there were lots of places he’d never heard of. He asked Sally if she’d heard
of Sarabelle, where he was from. He knew a doctor there, if she wanted to see one.
“Why would I want that!” Her eyes blazed, and her voice was harsh.
“No, sorry, it’s just… if you had trouble, you know.…”
She assured him that she was fine, she’d just been walking to the bus, and wouldn’t you know, the heel on her shoe broke so
she threw both shoes away. That’s all.
“You want to get the bus in Amity? I’ll take you to the station there.”
“That would be helpful.”
He drove along slowly, as if he meant to delay their arrival in Amity so he could hear something of her story and
her standing there wondering what to do, with her red-tipped hands still in the box that held his life savings.
She could call out to him. And then what?
She could close the box and go to her room. And then what?
He wanted her to take the money. He’d said as much. He’d given her permission and made it clear that he wouldn’t hold her
responsible for stealing. Why he wanted her to take it didn’t make any sense. Or she convinced herself that it didn’t make
sense because it helped her avoid the truth. Really, it made too much sense. But in the panic that returned to her as she
grabbed the bundles of bills, she wouldn’t let herself think clearly enough to understand that she was capable right then
of understanding more than she would have thought possible.
She didn’t allow herself to think of what Mason Jackson had been through over the course of his long, hard life. She didn’t
consider the gold band on his finger. She didn’t let the ring call to mind what Georgie had told her about the wife who’d
left Mason after their little girl had fallen through the ice of the Tuskee. She didn’t think about the little girl. She didn’t
think about the frigid water flowing below the ice. She didn’t stop to remember how one day three years earlier Swill and
Mason had lifted her by her elbows out of the cold creek. All these thoughts could have come to her vividly right then, yet
she didn’t let them. She was too busy stuffing the money into an empty paper bag, frantic to get out of there.
She’d have to use two bags if she was going to take all the money. But she wasn’t going to take all the money. She wasn’t
so cruel that she’d leave him with nothing. She’d leave at least half of it behind — her parting gift and her only way of
apologizing to the man who had been so kind to her.
And then, watch how she runs out of the house in her bare feet, running away from this chapter of her life, running along
the path that fishermen had made in the swamp grass.
She followed the river a couple of miles until she reached the Route 36 bridge. She climbed up the sloping bank, slipping
once on the wet grass, muddying her nice yellow dress. She started walking along the road, keeping just inside the gravel
edge to avoid the sharp little stones.
A few cars sped right past her. She kept walking, minding her own business. But when she turned at the loud approach of a
station wagon, the driver slowed and the children sitting in the back waved and called something to her. The car stopped a
few yards ahead along the road.
She jogged up to the passenger door, which swung open before she reached it. A sullen, pimply boy sat in the passenger seat,
and a man with a broad, sunburnt face and buzz-cut hair was at the wheel. The man leaned over the boy and said to Sally, “Need
a lift?”
“Sure, thanks.”
“Go on,” the man said to the sullen boy, who dragged himself out the door without acknowledging Sally. She climbed into the
seat while the boy squeezed himself into the back beside the other children.
The man started driving.
“Where you heading?”
“Rondo,” she said.
“Where’s that?”
“Downriver.”
The man had never heard of it. But of course there were lots of places he’d never heard of. He asked Sally if she’d heard
of Sarabelle, where he was from. He knew a doctor there, if she wanted to see one.
“Why would I want that!” Her eyes blazed, and her voice was harsh.
“No, sorry, it’s just… if you had trouble, you know.…”
She assured him that she was fine, she’d just been walking to the bus, and wouldn’t you know, the heel on her shoe broke so
she threw both shoes away. That’s all.
“You want to get the bus in Amity? I’ll take you to the station there.”
“That would be helpful.”
He drove along slowly, as if he meant to delay their arrival in Amity so he could hear something of her story and
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