Stars Go Blue by Laura Pritchett Page B

and father, their sugar beets and their onions and their cattle. His parents were busy, always busy, and they didn’t have too much time to give him attention, but they were good, and he misses them. He liked to go visit their graves, back when he could drive, because it made him feel that perhaps they were on the same spinning planet as he, and he seeing their graves helped him feel less alone.
    He should have told someone how much he missed Rachel. That his heart ached and ached and even after he asked it to stop aching it ached anyway. He never spoke it and it ruined his mind. He could not forget his daughter, even though he wanted to. He remembers thinking, We don’t have memories, they have us. Perhaps if he could have spoken, his brain would not have rotted.
    He takes the glass of milk Renny is handing him. “Oh,” he says, remembering something very important. And he wants sobadly to go write it down. When he gets a moment to himself, he will write a list:
    Tell Carolyn good-bye
    Tell Renny good-bye
    Tell willows good-bye
    Tell ranch good-bye
    Tell grandkids good-bye
    Especially Jess, he thinks. He’s always loved her extra-much, as she used to say when she was young. Extra-much.
    He needs to speak it. He needs to hurry. Today, he will visit the grave of his daughter. He will put his plan into motion. He will tell everyone good-bye. He repeats it over and over, Tell them good-bye, so that he does not forget. He won’t be cheated of that again.

RENNY
    I t seems it will never end. At the post office, from her PO box, she pulls a letter with a return address: County Road EE, Greeley, Colorado. Ray’s scratchy handwriting, which she has not seen for more than a year now. Her heart skitter-scatters, just like his blue pen on white paper.
    She rips open the letter. Would like to come visit, would like to see you in person and apologize. Can certainly be in the presence of a police officer . She scans the phrases quickly. Legal. Earned time, automatic deductions, parole eligibility date. Paid my dues. Visit? If you allow. May I? She feels the volcano of anger rise from her stomach to her face. And a P.S. Rachel’s birthday was around now, wasn’t it? Can’t remember the exact date. Embarrassed that I can’t remember. I’m sure that’s hard on you.
    She throws the letter in the trash, thinks twice, picks it up. Throws it back again. What a bastard. Can’t even rememberthe birthday of his wife, of the woman he killed. February 16. February 16. February 16! Renny stands there, staring at the trash bin, trying to get the upper hand on her heart, which is racing now, racing. She’s going to have one of those panic attacks, those horrible things she had after Rachel died, and so she stands there, breathing, in out in out, calm calm .
    Her hatred of Ray doesn’t need to go away, she decides. No, that she can keep. Because it’s justified and appropriate. Damn-for-hell. Enough is enough. I’ve had it. I’ve goddamn had it.
    The ding of the post office door rouses her. A rancher walks in—she doesn’t know him, but he tips his cowboy hat, as he always does. Ruben the vet is right behind him, handsome as ever, liquid brown eyes and still the smile of youth, beat-up ball cap that he also tips, and she manages to smile at him.
    â€œHey, Renny.” Ruben holds up his PO box key and tips it in a hello to her. She looks from his face to the rest of him, startled to see he’s dressed in overalls splattered in blood. “Can I talk to you for a minute? It’s important.”
    â€œLooks like you had a tough call today. Hang in there.” She keeps moving. She knows exactly what this is about, the missing pink juice, and she can’t deal with that.
    He touches her shoulder. “Renny? I really need to ask you something important—”
    She throws her arm out fast and sure, whacks him across the chest. “Step back,