cheated on tests, never spoke back to her parents, and never received attention from handsome boys. And this was Bobby Kettrick, no less. She gave him a weak nod and then put her considerable General Store intellect to good use. She rested on her elbows, her shirt falling forward to reveal measly mosquito bite breasts. She whispered, “Buy one of them Styrofoam coolers we got in the back. You put some beer in it and no one’ll ever know. I won’t ring it up, okay?”
Bobby reached out and touched her bony arm. “It’ll be our secret, Amber. You’re the best.”
Amber figured she could up and die right about then ‘cuz life wouldn’t ever get any better.
Sauntering out of Westerling’s a few minutes later with his new cooler, three six-packs of beer, and another item he’d stolen on a whim, Bobby waved good-bye to the last girl he’d ever see, save for the one that would wind up dead a few hours later.
Chapter 11
Allison… present
Arriving home around four, I found Selena searching the pantry for a snack to stuff down her gullet for her lengthy drive home, all of four miles if I calculated correctly. She came up with a bag of pretzels, glared at them disapprovingly, and shoved them in her purse anyway.
“How’s she doing?” I asked.
“Seems good. An old friend from work called and they chatted for twenty minutes.”
“Someone she’s actually met?”
“No, a phone friend from the west coast,” Selena said as she headed out the door and waved good-bye.
My mother had worked for years as an at-home medical transcriptionist until the company centralized their operations last November. It had been good, steady work, but lonely, especially for an ostracized widow. Her only contact with co-workers had come during monthly teleconferences. They’d known her as Justine who made the occasional joke before the manager came on the line . It allowed her to escape her surname and brought in some much-needed money. I wondered sometimes if the loss of the job contributed to the current worsening of her mental state.
My mom entered the kitchen from the dining room. She looked good, lively. “What would you like for dinner tonight, Allison?”
“You cooking?”
“Don’t I always?”
No, but I wasn’t going to call her on technicalities. The pots left boiling on the stove last May and the lasagna that transformed into a black brick on my previous visit were best left unmentioned.
“As it turns out, ” I said, “I stopped and got salmon at that seafood place where the print shop used to be. Think you can turn it into something fabulous?”
“Salmon itself is fabulous, but there’s nothing wrong with dressing it up a bit.”
As my mom unwrapped the fish and started to concoct a maple-brandy marinade for it, I jumped into the conversation that had been awaiting one of her clearheaded moments.
“I ran into Mrs. Smith today.”
My mom’s back tightened as if all her muscles had cramped at once but she let them relax with her next exhalation.
“You two ever talk anymore?” I asked.
“Oh, no, honey. Her son was one of poor Bobby Kettrick’s friends. You know that. Well, maybe you don’t. You were so young, after all.”
The revolving door of Bobby Kettrick perceptions was spinning again. In lucid moments, Bobby was a dear boy . Sometimes a poor thing . In the newer, confused moments, Bobby was inevitably a rat. One thing he never was… the boy your father shot . She wouldn’t believe that if I showed her a video of it. I always gave Mom the benefit of the doubt and assumed that the woman who turned the other cheek and gave the shirt off her back to less-than-charitable neighbors was the real Justine Fennimore.
“ I remember her son,” I said. “Smitty. He’s actually in town for the high school reunion.”
“Do you ever do things like that, honey? Go to your high school reunions?”
Needed to rent Carrie for my mom sometime. A bucket of blood on my head would be the least of my
Bobby reached out and touched her bony arm. “It’ll be our secret, Amber. You’re the best.”
Amber figured she could up and die right about then ‘cuz life wouldn’t ever get any better.
Sauntering out of Westerling’s a few minutes later with his new cooler, three six-packs of beer, and another item he’d stolen on a whim, Bobby waved good-bye to the last girl he’d ever see, save for the one that would wind up dead a few hours later.
Chapter 11
Allison… present
Arriving home around four, I found Selena searching the pantry for a snack to stuff down her gullet for her lengthy drive home, all of four miles if I calculated correctly. She came up with a bag of pretzels, glared at them disapprovingly, and shoved them in her purse anyway.
“How’s she doing?” I asked.
“Seems good. An old friend from work called and they chatted for twenty minutes.”
“Someone she’s actually met?”
“No, a phone friend from the west coast,” Selena said as she headed out the door and waved good-bye.
My mother had worked for years as an at-home medical transcriptionist until the company centralized their operations last November. It had been good, steady work, but lonely, especially for an ostracized widow. Her only contact with co-workers had come during monthly teleconferences. They’d known her as Justine who made the occasional joke before the manager came on the line . It allowed her to escape her surname and brought in some much-needed money. I wondered sometimes if the loss of the job contributed to the current worsening of her mental state.
My mom entered the kitchen from the dining room. She looked good, lively. “What would you like for dinner tonight, Allison?”
“You cooking?”
“Don’t I always?”
No, but I wasn’t going to call her on technicalities. The pots left boiling on the stove last May and the lasagna that transformed into a black brick on my previous visit were best left unmentioned.
“As it turns out, ” I said, “I stopped and got salmon at that seafood place where the print shop used to be. Think you can turn it into something fabulous?”
“Salmon itself is fabulous, but there’s nothing wrong with dressing it up a bit.”
As my mom unwrapped the fish and started to concoct a maple-brandy marinade for it, I jumped into the conversation that had been awaiting one of her clearheaded moments.
“I ran into Mrs. Smith today.”
My mom’s back tightened as if all her muscles had cramped at once but she let them relax with her next exhalation.
“You two ever talk anymore?” I asked.
“Oh, no, honey. Her son was one of poor Bobby Kettrick’s friends. You know that. Well, maybe you don’t. You were so young, after all.”
The revolving door of Bobby Kettrick perceptions was spinning again. In lucid moments, Bobby was a dear boy . Sometimes a poor thing . In the newer, confused moments, Bobby was inevitably a rat. One thing he never was… the boy your father shot . She wouldn’t believe that if I showed her a video of it. I always gave Mom the benefit of the doubt and assumed that the woman who turned the other cheek and gave the shirt off her back to less-than-charitable neighbors was the real Justine Fennimore.
“ I remember her son,” I said. “Smitty. He’s actually in town for the high school reunion.”
“Do you ever do things like that, honey? Go to your high school reunions?”
Needed to rent Carrie for my mom sometime. A bucket of blood on my head would be the least of my
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