jacket most likely covered it," consoled Lucas quietly. " And you were behind the podium the entire time."
"Oh." Winifred thought about the incident as he ran fingers through his hair, then smiled and waved at approaching senators.
Colebrook, New Hampshire (September 2)
Weeds had started taking over the trail that crossed Mohawk Creek and cut through the pines to Helen's house. Just off the trail, Barry's lean-to now housed other creatures: a pair of chipmunks stored hickory nuts in one of its many caches at the base; field mice roamed through the shelter unencumbered; a fat, gray spider waited at the edge of her web, poised to crawl up and lunch on anything entangled in its snare.
At the trail's end, Helen's house was surrounded by thick pines and carpeted by a layer of dead pine needles. It hadn't changed. But the sun cut through the needle canopy at a lower angle. The greens of nature that were so vibrant a month earlier had dimmed to olive. A Wild Cucumber pod exploded and sprayed its seeds twenty feet away. Late summer weeds lost their flowers, holding burs in their absence. And a golden retriever did nothing but lay on the bed in Barry's room, dry and clean and away from it all.
Helen sat in a chair at the kitchen table and drank coffee--listened to the gossip of CB channel six. She hadn't gone to church since the funeral. Helen could not believe in a God who would allow such a horrible thing to happen to her boy. She got up from her chair when someone knocked at the door. The Rousell brothers. Helen opened the door and spoke glumly, "Hi boys. What can I do for you?"
"Well, ah." Helen's appearance astounded Butch. She looked like a zombie, sickly, with sunken eyes. "Thad and me just thought that Barry would have wanted someone to take Tater out every once in awhile."
"You two pretend to know what Barry would have wanted?"
"We was Barry's best friends."
Helen realized how she sounded. "Well, come in." She gestured at the kitchen table, inviting them to sit. "You two want cookies?" Both nodded. She searched through the bottom cupboard and found some old, stale ones still around from before Barry's death. In fact, the shelves and refrigerator were bare.
Helen had little use for food, living by herself. She drank coffee in the morning and alcohol of some sort at night. She waited out her time in the place; with no job she couldn't pay the mortgage. Electric bills kept piling up; she had been behind on them even before she had lost her job at the hospital. In the month since Barry's death she lost fifteen pounds. The anxiety and despair never went away. Seeing the radical changes in Barry's mom since Dixville, with the vacant eyes and drawn cheeks, made the Rousell boys uneasy--such a rapid transformation they had never witnessed.
"You okay, Ms. Conrad?" Butch asked softly.
In a resigned tone, "I'm all right." With a tired smile, "I'm all right," she repeated. "And thanks for asking." The two menacing little Rousells whom Helen always felt had had a negative influence on Barry now seemed angelic. Butch, usually loud and boastful, said please and thank you. Helen knew they had been through a lot, and wondered how the last boys of Pack 220 survived the horror of that day. Butch told the Dixville story to adults only a couple of times--and never spoke of it again. "How many cookies do you want, two or three? Barry usually had three for a snack."
"Three, please."
Helen placed the cookies on napkins and went back to the sink to draw two glasses of water. "I don't have milk, boys. I hope this will do." She sat down and sipped her coffee. A minute passed before anyone said anything. "So, how's school going?"
"Pretty good," answered Butch. "The
"Oh." Winifred thought about the incident as he ran fingers through his hair, then smiled and waved at approaching senators.
Colebrook, New Hampshire (September 2)
Weeds had started taking over the trail that crossed Mohawk Creek and cut through the pines to Helen's house. Just off the trail, Barry's lean-to now housed other creatures: a pair of chipmunks stored hickory nuts in one of its many caches at the base; field mice roamed through the shelter unencumbered; a fat, gray spider waited at the edge of her web, poised to crawl up and lunch on anything entangled in its snare.
At the trail's end, Helen's house was surrounded by thick pines and carpeted by a layer of dead pine needles. It hadn't changed. But the sun cut through the needle canopy at a lower angle. The greens of nature that were so vibrant a month earlier had dimmed to olive. A Wild Cucumber pod exploded and sprayed its seeds twenty feet away. Late summer weeds lost their flowers, holding burs in their absence. And a golden retriever did nothing but lay on the bed in Barry's room, dry and clean and away from it all.
Helen sat in a chair at the kitchen table and drank coffee--listened to the gossip of CB channel six. She hadn't gone to church since the funeral. Helen could not believe in a God who would allow such a horrible thing to happen to her boy. She got up from her chair when someone knocked at the door. The Rousell brothers. Helen opened the door and spoke glumly, "Hi boys. What can I do for you?"
"Well, ah." Helen's appearance astounded Butch. She looked like a zombie, sickly, with sunken eyes. "Thad and me just thought that Barry would have wanted someone to take Tater out every once in awhile."
"You two pretend to know what Barry would have wanted?"
"We was Barry's best friends."
Helen realized how she sounded. "Well, come in." She gestured at the kitchen table, inviting them to sit. "You two want cookies?" Both nodded. She searched through the bottom cupboard and found some old, stale ones still around from before Barry's death. In fact, the shelves and refrigerator were bare.
Helen had little use for food, living by herself. She drank coffee in the morning and alcohol of some sort at night. She waited out her time in the place; with no job she couldn't pay the mortgage. Electric bills kept piling up; she had been behind on them even before she had lost her job at the hospital. In the month since Barry's death she lost fifteen pounds. The anxiety and despair never went away. Seeing the radical changes in Barry's mom since Dixville, with the vacant eyes and drawn cheeks, made the Rousell boys uneasy--such a rapid transformation they had never witnessed.
"You okay, Ms. Conrad?" Butch asked softly.
In a resigned tone, "I'm all right." With a tired smile, "I'm all right," she repeated. "And thanks for asking." The two menacing little Rousells whom Helen always felt had had a negative influence on Barry now seemed angelic. Butch, usually loud and boastful, said please and thank you. Helen knew they had been through a lot, and wondered how the last boys of Pack 220 survived the horror of that day. Butch told the Dixville story to adults only a couple of times--and never spoke of it again. "How many cookies do you want, two or three? Barry usually had three for a snack."
"Three, please."
Helen placed the cookies on napkins and went back to the sink to draw two glasses of water. "I don't have milk, boys. I hope this will do." She sat down and sipped her coffee. A minute passed before anyone said anything. "So, how's school going?"
"Pretty good," answered Butch. "The
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