Sara?”
No one answered him.
He cried and screamed.
No! This was supposed to be their day. Just one day to have together. She deserved this day. How, how could they take this away from her?
Reese woke up, shouting. Soon he realized he was in a hotel room and not in a prison cell. Then he remembered he was in a no-name place outside of a no-name town in West Virginia. He made it to the bathroom before he began crying.
He feared returning to bed. He considered the hotel room and thought he had never felt more alone in his life. He had escaped prison for this. A room alone. He left the room and went to the bar.
Reese had known a man in the army who had been captured by the Vietcong and imprisoned in Hanoi. He was freed in 1973 with most of the other soldiers and allowed to return home. The man told Reese that every day he could get out of bed and walk out a door that was not locked was a good day.
But Reese knew another soldier who spent four years imprisoned and got out, only to learn that his wife had left him for another man. A soldier whose children considered him a stranger. That man never recovered.
Reese could leave his hotel room and walk to a bar. But he could not escape his loneliness and grief. He had not imagined that he would miss his Sara more once he was out of prison. But he did. He knew it was not logical.
His reticence intrigued the bartender. She was not a beautiful woman, but she was an attractive, approachable one and she was used to being hit on by customers.
She said to him, “In town for the night?”
He looked straight ahead, not at her. “Yes,” he said.
“What’s your name?”
“Paul.”
“What do you do?”
“Business.”
“What sort of business?”
He turned and regarded her. His expression was neither rude nor warm.
“Hardware,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m not much of a conversationalist.”
“You look tired.”
“I’ll be finished soon.”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” the girl said. “I mean, stay as long as you like. I’m not going anywhere.”
The girl placed her fingertips near his hand. “Maybe you’d like to talk,” she said.
“No, not really.”
“Maybe something else.”
He looked at her again. “No, not really.”
“You don’t fancy me?”
It did not occur to Reese that he had not been with a woman in over thirteen years. Arrest and then trial about a year later and then a lifetime sentence. Most men, upon getting out, would have gone straight to the nearest brothel. Or their wives.
Reese said, “I’m sorry. I’m married.”
“Oh. I didn’t know. I mean, you’re not wearing a ring.”
They had taken the ring away from him. It was still at the federal penitentiary.
Reese’s words had the effect of making her more determined. She said, “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Thank you.”
The bartender walked off and Reese glanced at her backside. She was young and she reminded him of someone he knew. Sharon? Or was it Rita? It was Rita, the preacher’s daughter. Rita never said no to anyone.
God, what? Over thirty years ago …
Rita Fay Cutler. Not beautiful, but hot and dirty and willing, with a blouse full of promise …
Berry, Texas. A small oil town about a hundred miles from Dallas. Moderately affluent before the oil bust of 1984. John Reese was one of three hundred or so students at the town’s only high school. He had been working construction after school then. Making four dollars an hour, which was good money for a teenager in the seventies. At the age of eighteen, he had saved enough money to buy a Li’l Hustler Datsun pickup, one of the best vehicles he would ever own. He would take Rita Fay out to the lake in it, get it up to about ninety on the back roads as she screamed in delight, “Faster,
faster
. ” They would park the truck in a secluded area and make love under blankets nearby. There had been girls before Rita Fay, but they had been quick, uncomfortable affairs. Rita Fay was like a woman,
No one answered him.
He cried and screamed.
No! This was supposed to be their day. Just one day to have together. She deserved this day. How, how could they take this away from her?
Reese woke up, shouting. Soon he realized he was in a hotel room and not in a prison cell. Then he remembered he was in a no-name place outside of a no-name town in West Virginia. He made it to the bathroom before he began crying.
He feared returning to bed. He considered the hotel room and thought he had never felt more alone in his life. He had escaped prison for this. A room alone. He left the room and went to the bar.
Reese had known a man in the army who had been captured by the Vietcong and imprisoned in Hanoi. He was freed in 1973 with most of the other soldiers and allowed to return home. The man told Reese that every day he could get out of bed and walk out a door that was not locked was a good day.
But Reese knew another soldier who spent four years imprisoned and got out, only to learn that his wife had left him for another man. A soldier whose children considered him a stranger. That man never recovered.
Reese could leave his hotel room and walk to a bar. But he could not escape his loneliness and grief. He had not imagined that he would miss his Sara more once he was out of prison. But he did. He knew it was not logical.
His reticence intrigued the bartender. She was not a beautiful woman, but she was an attractive, approachable one and she was used to being hit on by customers.
She said to him, “In town for the night?”
He looked straight ahead, not at her. “Yes,” he said.
“What’s your name?”
“Paul.”
“What do you do?”
“Business.”
“What sort of business?”
He turned and regarded her. His expression was neither rude nor warm.
“Hardware,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m not much of a conversationalist.”
“You look tired.”
“I’ll be finished soon.”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” the girl said. “I mean, stay as long as you like. I’m not going anywhere.”
The girl placed her fingertips near his hand. “Maybe you’d like to talk,” she said.
“No, not really.”
“Maybe something else.”
He looked at her again. “No, not really.”
“You don’t fancy me?”
It did not occur to Reese that he had not been with a woman in over thirteen years. Arrest and then trial about a year later and then a lifetime sentence. Most men, upon getting out, would have gone straight to the nearest brothel. Or their wives.
Reese said, “I’m sorry. I’m married.”
“Oh. I didn’t know. I mean, you’re not wearing a ring.”
They had taken the ring away from him. It was still at the federal penitentiary.
Reese’s words had the effect of making her more determined. She said, “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Thank you.”
The bartender walked off and Reese glanced at her backside. She was young and she reminded him of someone he knew. Sharon? Or was it Rita? It was Rita, the preacher’s daughter. Rita never said no to anyone.
God, what? Over thirty years ago …
Rita Fay Cutler. Not beautiful, but hot and dirty and willing, with a blouse full of promise …
Berry, Texas. A small oil town about a hundred miles from Dallas. Moderately affluent before the oil bust of 1984. John Reese was one of three hundred or so students at the town’s only high school. He had been working construction after school then. Making four dollars an hour, which was good money for a teenager in the seventies. At the age of eighteen, he had saved enough money to buy a Li’l Hustler Datsun pickup, one of the best vehicles he would ever own. He would take Rita Fay out to the lake in it, get it up to about ninety on the back roads as she screamed in delight, “Faster,
faster
. ” They would park the truck in a secluded area and make love under blankets nearby. There had been girls before Rita Fay, but they had been quick, uncomfortable affairs. Rita Fay was like a woman,
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