Deceived by James Scott Bell Page B

the ground, the sun dropping fast now. It would be dusk soon, then dark. Ted pictured them sitting by a fire all through the night. Maybe she’d put her head on his chest and he’d hold her and comfort her.
    “Can you tell me your name?” he asked.
    She looked at him. Her eyes were blue, like a Kansas sky. “Liz,” she said.
    “I’m Ted,” he said. “Ted Gillespie. I’ll stay right with you until they come.”
    “My husband . . .” She left a lilt on the end, like she was asking a question.
    “I’m afraid that . . .” How do you break this kind of news?
    “Afraid what? Tell me.”
    “I’m so sorry.”
    “Tell me!”
    “You’ve got to be strong,” he said. This is just what Walker, Texas Ranger, would have told her. “Your husband, he’s . . .” He found he couldn’t complete the thought.
    But the expression on her face told him he didn’t have to.
    “And now we’ve got to take care of you,” Ted said. “Got to make sure you get better.”
    She said nothing. Looked like she was in shock.
    Now what? Where was the script? Ted felt like a crab out of water, clacking blindly around the deck. Maybe if he kept talking —
    “I just happened to be walking, see, and maybe it’s one of those things that’s meant to be. For me to get you help. I don’t know how things happen or why things happen,” — If there’s a God , help me now! — “but things do happen, and there’s a reason. I’m just glad to be here to help.”
    She still said nothing. She was holding her knees now and resting her head on top of them.
    “I’m a computer guy,” he said. “Used to work for AIG, Blue Cross, some other big companies. I’m on my own now. Always wanted to start up my own consulting group. You?”
    He felt stupid trying to draw her out like this. But he had to do something. Sitting in silence wasn’t acceptable. Whenever he did that, he had the feeling people were watching him, judging him.
    “I can’t talk now,” she said.
    Idiot! “That’s okay. That’s really okay. I didn’t mean — ”
    “I know. Thank you. Just thank you for being here.”
    So silence it was, but he didn’t feel judged at all. She was grateful.
    He was grateful, too. There was a God.

    Why wasn’t Arty answering or returning her calls?
    Rocky snapped her phone shut and breathed a small curse. She needed money, and Arty had always been good for a loan, because she always paid him back. She always managed to find more work. She always scraped by.
    Sure, there were plenty of lean times. Like now. The past year had been the worst so far. But Arty was always there to help. Even though they hadn’t been as close in recent years, Arty was the rock of the family.
    Older by two years, Arty had been her protector when they were kids. If he ever heard anybody making fun of her face, he went after the kid like the Tasmanian Devil in those cartoons.
    It didn’t matter if the kid was older. She remembered when one eighth grader, a big kid who played on the flag football team at Arty’s school, called her “freak face.” It was summer and she and Arty were walking back from the park. Arty was teaching her how to play softball. She must have been ten at the time.
    It was a hot day, and they stopped at the 7-Eleven. Arty bought them both Slurpees. As they were walking out, the big kid came in with a skinny friend and almost bumped into them.
    The big kid said, “Watch it,” and then threw in a word Rocky thought only applied to a mean woman. But the kid had called Arty that.
    Arty said, “You watch it.”
    The big kid looked down and sneered, then looked at Rocky. “You and freak face better get out of here,” he said.
    At which point Arty shoved his Slurpee into the kid’s face. Before the kid could even sputter, Arty was all over him, getting him in a headlock, pulling him to the ground, pummeling him with both hands.
    The skinny kid just stood there, like he was watching two dogs fight and was afraid to get bit.
    The man