against the dashboard, then sank back in a crumple against his seat. It wasn’t fair to blame Sharon entirely. She’d just been a young girl who fell in love. He’d been the old fool who let her.
But he’d changed all of that with this move back to Cavus. He’d fix up the old house he’d grown up in, make it so that Izzy could spend summers enjoying the sweet, small-town life he’d had as a boy. And then…he hardly let himself have the thought, but there it was…then maybe, when she was older, she’d want to come here permanently. Live with him here in Cavus.
The factory hummed busily, its outlines soft in the moonlight and smoke pouring out of the chimney. The sound pumping from it was that of many machines running comfortably together, of pieces moving and working in synch. It was a comforting sound, not disturbing or excessive like many of the city factories Riley’d seen. It was a comforting sound, but it didn’t comfort him. He didn’t like the place, Riley realized, sitting up straighter.
There was no reason for it, no reason at all that he should have feelings one way or another toward SweetHeart, but he did. There was something about it that he couldn’t put his finger on, a gut reaction. After all these years, Patrick Riley had learned that kind of thing was not something that could or should be ignored.
But it would have to be for tonight. Riley glanced at the neon clock on his dashboard and saw that it was pushing midnight. He thought about his need to get home when the factory doors swung open and a stream of men floated out of the fluorescent light and into the parking lot.
Riley paused, then lowered his arm. He watched the people leaving; most of them he’d known since he was a kid. They looked happy. The men and women talked and joked as they came outside. There was Uncle Bob, and Riley watched as he waved to another man, someone who looked like Tim Erickson, who’d helped Riley take their high school football team to state, though it was hard to tell in this light. Riley thought about honking at them but stopped himself. Better, maybe, to remain in the shadows here. Just another car in the lot. He’d never figured out why, but the sight of a cop car often scared people, even the most law-abiding ones.
A new group emerged, this one made up of three women. One of them, and Riley was certain this time, was Margaret Chenowith, a woman who’d been dear friends with his mother. She must be pushing seventy now, so apparently the factory was an equal opportunity employer.
People slammed doors and car engines started up. One by one they trailed out of the parking lot. Finally, Riley’s was the only car left. He flipped his lights on and turned over his own engine, shifting into reverse. He was about to leave when he saw a shape standing in front of the car, caught unexpectedly in his headlights. The shape threw its hands up to cover its eyes, stepped to the side of the lights, and then slowly lowered them, walking tentatively forward.
Riley could make out the person better now, and he knew immediately who it was. Javier Martinez, who’d just moved here with his family. He watched as the boy recognized the shape of the cop car and stiffened.
Javier was an illegal, Riley knew that. Everybody knew that, and a few people had already called Riley asking him to do something about it. He hadn’t been planning to, had been planning on just avoiding the kid and the situation entirely, but now here he was. Riley watched the tensed boy, waiting for him to run. If he ran, would Riley follow him? Would he turn on his warning lights?
But the boy surprised him. Instead of taking flight, he moved forward, toward the car. The walk was straight and steady, but it didn’t entirely disguise the fear. Riley tensed, ready for an encounter. Two feet closer, then three, and the boy was at the hood of the car. He raised his hand in a fist, then lowered it to tap twice, gently, on Riley’s car hood.
A hello. The
But he’d changed all of that with this move back to Cavus. He’d fix up the old house he’d grown up in, make it so that Izzy could spend summers enjoying the sweet, small-town life he’d had as a boy. And then…he hardly let himself have the thought, but there it was…then maybe, when she was older, she’d want to come here permanently. Live with him here in Cavus.
The factory hummed busily, its outlines soft in the moonlight and smoke pouring out of the chimney. The sound pumping from it was that of many machines running comfortably together, of pieces moving and working in synch. It was a comforting sound, not disturbing or excessive like many of the city factories Riley’d seen. It was a comforting sound, but it didn’t comfort him. He didn’t like the place, Riley realized, sitting up straighter.
There was no reason for it, no reason at all that he should have feelings one way or another toward SweetHeart, but he did. There was something about it that he couldn’t put his finger on, a gut reaction. After all these years, Patrick Riley had learned that kind of thing was not something that could or should be ignored.
But it would have to be for tonight. Riley glanced at the neon clock on his dashboard and saw that it was pushing midnight. He thought about his need to get home when the factory doors swung open and a stream of men floated out of the fluorescent light and into the parking lot.
Riley paused, then lowered his arm. He watched the people leaving; most of them he’d known since he was a kid. They looked happy. The men and women talked and joked as they came outside. There was Uncle Bob, and Riley watched as he waved to another man, someone who looked like Tim Erickson, who’d helped Riley take their high school football team to state, though it was hard to tell in this light. Riley thought about honking at them but stopped himself. Better, maybe, to remain in the shadows here. Just another car in the lot. He’d never figured out why, but the sight of a cop car often scared people, even the most law-abiding ones.
A new group emerged, this one made up of three women. One of them, and Riley was certain this time, was Margaret Chenowith, a woman who’d been dear friends with his mother. She must be pushing seventy now, so apparently the factory was an equal opportunity employer.
People slammed doors and car engines started up. One by one they trailed out of the parking lot. Finally, Riley’s was the only car left. He flipped his lights on and turned over his own engine, shifting into reverse. He was about to leave when he saw a shape standing in front of the car, caught unexpectedly in his headlights. The shape threw its hands up to cover its eyes, stepped to the side of the lights, and then slowly lowered them, walking tentatively forward.
Riley could make out the person better now, and he knew immediately who it was. Javier Martinez, who’d just moved here with his family. He watched as the boy recognized the shape of the cop car and stiffened.
Javier was an illegal, Riley knew that. Everybody knew that, and a few people had already called Riley asking him to do something about it. He hadn’t been planning to, had been planning on just avoiding the kid and the situation entirely, but now here he was. Riley watched the tensed boy, waiting for him to run. If he ran, would Riley follow him? Would he turn on his warning lights?
But the boy surprised him. Instead of taking flight, he moved forward, toward the car. The walk was straight and steady, but it didn’t entirely disguise the fear. Riley tensed, ready for an encounter. Two feet closer, then three, and the boy was at the hood of the car. He raised his hand in a fist, then lowered it to tap twice, gently, on Riley’s car hood.
A hello. The
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