“Stop calling me ma’am.” Rina noticed an edge to her voice. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s nothing personal. It’s just the way Peter is, and I don’t want to aggravate him.”

Abel didn’t say anything. Rina shrugged, then turned to walk away.

“Rina?” Abel called out.

“What?”

“Do me a favor. Toss me my cane while I clean up. It’s leaning against the left wall.”

“Sure,” Rina said. By the time the cane was in her hand, Abel had moved so that he blocked the entrance to the barn. It was as if the guy had floated through the air, he’d been that quiet.

Abel shut the door. Rina felt her heart begin to pound.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

“Closing the door.”

“Get away from the door.”

Abel smiled again; this time it was eerie. “Why?” he asked.

So innocent.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Rina shouted out. “I know what you’ve been accused of doing…”

Abel shrugged.

“For godsake, Abel, I thought Peter was your best friend.”

“He is.”

“Then get away from the door!” Rina felt her throat tighten. “Please.”

“No, ma’am.”

“You know I have a gun in my purse.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I know how to use it,” Rina said. Her voice sounded shakier than she’d hoped.

“Yes, ma’am.” Abel started to walk toward her.

“Why are you doing this?” Rina said.

But he kept approaching her. Quickly, she reached inside her purse, pulled out her gun, and aimed it at his chest.

That stopped him for a moment. Rina found her voice. She said, “Just get out of here! Just leave and everything’s forgotten.”

Abel shrugged, started toward her once again. “’Fraid I can’t do that, Rina.” He wiped his forehead. “No, I just can’t do that at all.”

Peter’s voice rang in her ears. A knack for attracting weirdos. Then he’d soft-pedaled his indictment.

I meant you’d attract any man, weird or not, because you’re so beautiful….

Peter never knew how right he was. Men had always stared at her. Strange men, men she knew, her father’s friends, the men in the community. It didn’t matter. They always were smiling at her, speaking to her, or just plain ogling her. No matter what she did, how dowdily she dressed herself, how tired and drawn she appeared after a long day at work. When she sat in the subway, nose buried in a book, some jerk always came up to her, tried out some sort of asinine line. What was she doing to encourage them? Or was it just her looks, the looks she cursed at this moment. Sweat began to pour down her armpits.

“I’m going to shoot you!” Rina said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll kill you, for godsake!”

“Yes, ma’am.”