“It was August and the south field was chock full o’ corn. I jest went out there and set down in the middle of all them cornstalks where no one could see me except the worms and sap beetles and thought on the things Granny used to do … like how she’d drag me around by the ear when she was mad at me.” He laughed. “But she’d play horseshoes with me and she’d smoke a pipe and give it to me when Mama wasn’t lookin’. Them kind of things.”

Anna smiled at him. He was such a tender soul. “You’re very wise, Jesse Williams,” she said. “But actually, I don’t want to go someplace quiet. I think it would be best for me to stay here and focus on my work today.”

He nodded. “That’s jest like you, Miss Anna,” he said. “But you change your mind, I can point you to some good places for hidin’ out by yourself.”

“I’ll let you know,” she said, still smiling as she turned around, reaching for her palette. She didn’t say what she truly wanted to say: This was the first time I’ve said it all out loud. It feels good to tell someone what happened. Thank you for listening. Perhaps now that she’d told the story, it would lose its power over her. She hoped she would never have to repeat it to anyone ever again.

Chapter 41. Morgan

Chapter 41

MORGAN

July 12, 2018

It was nearly three in the morning by the time an orderly wheeled me out of the emergency room toward Oliver’s van. I was wearing the awkward walking boot, and it took some careful maneuvering for me to stretch out on the van’s second-row seat, my back against the side door. Finally, we were off.

“How’re you doing back there?” Oliver asked once we’d put a few miles between us and the hospital.

I watched my walking boot glow each time we passed beneath a streetlight. “I’m okay,” I said. “It’s not too bad.” The van’s radio was on, playing softly. A guy was singing about Vietnam, and I smiled. “We have to do something about your music, though,” I added, and Oliver laughed.

“You mean right now, or in general?” he asked.

“In general. It’s old-people music. Vietnam protests are ancient history.”

“My parents were old folkies and I grew up on this stuff,” he said. “It’s deeper than today’s music. Has more of a message than ‘oh, I wanna get laid tonight’ or whatever.”

I laughed. I love you, I thought, but of course I kept my mouth shut. Dangerous thinking. The last man I’d fallen in love with screwed me over royally. Instead, I said, “It’ll be easier to relate to Nathan if you listen to the music he listens to. Music’s a bridge between people.”