"Our starter house," Kevin had called it. Something they had bought right out of college, planning to move up in a few years when Kevin's college loans were paid off. But the years passed and up never happened. Not that she minded, she told herself. This was home, easy to clean, close to school.

Meredith put her purse and the tote bag that served as a briefcase on a bar chair. She wiggled out of her sweater and straightened the cotton blouse she wore beneath. It's ruined, she thought, as she folded the sweater. She had picked at loose thread ends so often today that several of the letters were now missing. The L had rolled up like a retracting tape measure. What good is an alphabet sweater with twenty-one letters and a curly L?

She pulled out a lesson plan book and tried to think of what to tell the substitute to do for the next week. She told Principal Pickett she could come back the day after Kevin's funeral, but he insisted she take some extra time off.

Walking to the kitchen, she pulled down a mug and coffee canister. Why was it people thought teachers got a day off when they were not at school? she wondered. The substitute's plans were harder to do than showing up for class.

She opened the canister and smelled the aroma of coffee then remembered the coffeemaker lay upside down on the tiny kitchen table. Parts were scattered among tools. Kevin had promised he would fix it last night before he came to bed. But, as always, he had not even tried.

Meredith calmly put down the mug and walked to the back door. On the screened-in porch, she found two mops, a dust pan and the hatchet Kevin had borrowed from the neighbor a month ago. He had planned to trim a branch that kept scraping the bedroom window.

She lifted the hatchet, ran her fingers over the handle and tromped back to the kitchen. The first blow hit the broken coffeemaker with enough force to send parts bouncing off the ceiling. Whack! Whack! The fourth strike cut deep into the linoleum tabletop.

All the anger she had bottled up for years exploded with each swing. "He…never…fixed…anything!" she said almost calmly between attacks.

Like a lumberjack discovering the power of the ax, she widened her stance and lengthened her swing. Pieces of plastic and cord and metal flew around her.

Just as a chunk struck her on the cheek, the doorbell rang.

For a moment Meredith stood, hatchet ready, like a crazed killer seeking the next victim. Then slowly she wiped a drop of blood from her face and walked to the door.

"Yes," she said, trying to hide the hatchet behind her.

"Are you all right?" Sheriff Farrington's voice sounded from the shadows of the unlit porch.

Meredith calmed her breathing. "I'm fine. I was just fixing the coffeepot."

There was a long pause. Meredith guessed she should say something else or turn on the light, but she made no move. It would be better if he could not see her face.

Finally, the sheriff cleared his throat. "I forgot to ask you what you want me to do with Kevin's car."

Meredith could not fight down the smile as she gripped the hatchet. "I'll take care of it tomorrow."

She could almost see the sheriff raise an eyebrow. His hand went out as if to touch her, then he pulled back. "Meredith, are you sure you're all right? I could call someone. A friend or relative."

"No," she answered, surprised at the sheriff's concern. She had passed him in the halls of the courthouse for year and he had never said more than a few words. He was like her, an observer, not a participant. Two onlookers rarely have much to say to one another.

"Where is Kevin's car?" She had no intention of tellint, him how few friends she had. She knew almost everyone üi town, but could think of no one to call to be with her.

"It's in a two-hour parking spot at the bank," he answered. "He must have ridden out to the Montano place with Shelby or Jimmy. I saw both Howards heading into the bank yesterday morning."

She nodded. Everyone in town knew the sheriff observed folks passing on Main Street from his window with the same intensity that a sailor studies the sky.

"Don't worry about Kevin's car," Farrington finally mumbled. "I'll see it doesn't get ticketed. You can deal with it after you've had some sleep."

"Thank you." Meredith slowly closed the door, thinking maybe she could sell the car to help pay expenses.

Kevin wouldn't want anyone to know money was tight. Over the years she had seen him insist on paying, or throw money into a pot even when he knew it would run them short for the month. Once he had given a hundred dollars to help send the extras on the basketball team to the state tournament. The boys made it to Austin, but Meredith and Kevin ate macaroni and cheese for three weeks. That was the year they were so broke they got religion. The Baptist church had a young couples' dinner every Wednesday. For all couples under thirty there was no charge, the church's way of helping young folks get started.

She could continue to play the game alone. Meredith closed her eyes and reminded herself one more time to keep breathing.

"Our money is nobody's business but ours." She could almost hear Kevin saying.

"But mine," she corrected.


October 12

After midnight

The Whitworth home-Pigeon Run


Across town, money also pestered Helena Whitworth' mind. She wrote two checks to her daughters. Since she had got home from the hospital, they had worried about little else except the fact they had nothing black to wear to J.D.', funeral.

Paula and Patricia were fraternal twins born to Helena when she was still in her teens. Paula was the brightest of the pair. If one can compare the brightness of flannel. She managed to fail two years of college before dropping out. Patricia quit her first semester because the books were too heavy to carry across campus.

"You don't have to do this, Momma." Paula blew the ink dry on her check. "I could have charged what I needed at Sears. I know how important it is for you to have us dress properly and there is never anything in Helena's Choice in our size."

Patricia fidgeted impatiently. "I'm sorry I have to run, but Bill's home waiting up. He says he can't sleep without me beside him in bed. You know how it is." She took her check then glanced up at her mother. "I'm sorry, Momma. I didn't think. I'll get someone to keep the baby tomorrow and come over and help you."

"That won't be necessary." Helena tried, as always, to keep her words kind, not out of fondness, but out of selfpreservation. When the girls were upset, whining leaked into every word they communicated.

"Oh, Momma, I don't mind coming to help." Patricia lifted the three-year-old she still called "the baby." He'd had a plug in his mouth so long Helena sometimes wondered if it were a birth defect.

"You need to get rid of J.D.'s things, Momma, as soon us possible. It's not healthy to keep them around making you sad and all. Bill could probably wear some of those golf shirts on his Saturday runs. They're not real strict about the uniform then."

"Harry is J.D.'s shoe size," Paula interrupted. "Don't go giving his shoes away until Harry tries them on. We'll be over first thing tomorrow, too."

Helena closed her eyes, thinking of something J.D. used to say. "Even the bottom of the gene pool rises after a rain." It must have flooded the day she conceived. Though she loved her daughters dearly, they were a trial. Paula forever bossy, Patricia forever needy.

Both always wanted to help her. They meant well, but Helena hated discussing decisions that were hers to make. J.D. understood that about her. She was a woman who knew her own mind and did not need to take a poll to determine her actions.

"What are you going to do with all those hats he's got?" Patricia shook her head. "They're not even proper to give the Salvation Army-the ones he wore in the Marines. You know, the ones he always made us call `covers' instead of hats."

Paula snorted a laugh. "Can't you just see the homeless wandering the streets wearing a colonel's hat? And the old things he wore to watch birds wouldn't be fit for fishing."

Helena had had enough. She headed toward the door.

Like puppies hearing the paper being rolled, both girl looked suddenly guilty. "We're sorry, Momma," they chimed. "We didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

Both opened their arms to hug Helena, but then decided it would be safer to hug each other. Between ample bodies and ample breasts, they looked like huge Humpty Dumpty toys trying to dance but only succeeding in wobbling.

"I'm really going to miss the old guy," Paula cried on her sister's shoulder. "He wasn't so bad once we got used to the sin of Momma marrying him."

Paula never missed a chance to remind Helena that she and J.D. were first cousins. Everyone in town seemed to have forgotten except "One-track Paula."

"I'll miss him, too," Patricia added, but from the confused expression in her eyes, she couldn't remember any sin. "Even if I didn't understand what he was talking about half the time. He was always naming some place I never heard of like it was important and I should drop everything and go home and look it up on a map."

"Good night, girls." Helena held the door open as her offspring hurried out. They were her flesh and blood. The only part of her that would live on in this world. But they did not hold her heart. No one had until J.D.

Both daughters stood on the front step when she spoke again. "No one…I repeat, no one, touches J.D.'s things."

They looked at her as if they felt sorry for their mothers inability to face the facts.

Helena tried to keep her anger in check. "If either of yew do, you will never be welcome in this house again."