Courage To Live. Morgan Q O'Reilly

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      The next evening, with the weather too good to pass up, I let myself relax, if only for a little while.

      In an effort to unwind, I’d changed into my summer pajamas of soft cotton. I had some idea that a half hour in the sun might speed my healing, and had pulled my hair up into a ponytail, thinking maximum exposure. Maybe a weak tan would help camouflage the ugly purple bruise on my left cheek, and since I’d washed off the heavy makeup, it was the side I carefully kept aimed at the house to hide what oversized sunglasses didn’t. Although I could have used the incident to swing neighborhood sympathy my way, I didn’t want to advertise my injuries. Why broadcast my troubles? No one had helped before, I had no reason to expect help now.

      As often happened in quiet moments, my mind couldn’t help turning to the problem of my husband. No, the divorce wasn’t finalized, and if I ignored the money situation, we were doing all right. Although I wanted closure, and the alimony and child support he’d owe me, for the time being it was enough that Quint had apparently left the state. According to the police, if he had, he’d used cash to buy his ticket, but even then, the airlines didn’t turn up his name in a search of their passenger lists, so we had no idea where he might be. They currently had him listed as missing. In the back of my mind, I wondered if he was dead, but no signs of foul play had turned up anywhere. His truck remained impounded, although I would have liked to sell it, as I considered selling his woodworking tools. The small infusion would go a long way toward easing some of my pending money issues.

      Determined to follow a normal routine, I sat on my balcony, acting as if my book was so good it held my complete attention. Rob had control of the TV and I was enjoying the sun on the back of my neck, doing my best to absorb some Vitamin D and relax. The ribs hurt every time I breathed, so we were taking things easy, living on a selection of microwave foods–burritos, mini pizzas and Lean Cuisines. I really couldn’t lift anything heavier, and Rob was content to avoid dishes, which I’d worry about when we ran out of forks and spoons.

      Facing south, I had my back to Jack’s house. This gave me a view of my mini garden and the flowers growing on the four balconies beyond lined up with eerie precision. The botanical display started at the corner and ended with me. When it came to gardening, Jack didn’t do anything more than mow his lawn. In fact, I heard his mower start up and guessed he’d decided to cut the side between our houses to remind me to do my share. Fortunately, the yards were small and it wouldn’t take him but five minutes to do his side of the invisible line.

      I ignored him and tried to pick up the thread of the plot in my book, but my thoughts turned to our need to mow the lawn or face a letter from the HOA president. Tomorrow, I decided, Rob and I would tackle our side. He’d grown strong enough to push the man-powered reel mower by himself that year. If I could lift the string weeder, Rob could do the rest. He wasn’t quite coordinated enough to send out alone with the power whacker.

      Overhead, a small plane steadily droned by. Probably headed for Merrill Field, or it had just taken off from there, headed out for a cabin or hunting lodge. Once again, I wondered if Quint had taken a bush plane out to some lodge or village. Detectives had made the rounds of the small plane operators out at Lake Hood. So far, nothing had turned up.

      Weary of thinking about Quint’s whereabouts, I absorbed the background noise. The sound of planes went with Alaska. Not only did we have a couple military bases and an international airport, but there were two small plane airports. In addition to Lake Hood–the busiest floatplane base in the world–Merrill Field, which was nearly as busy, handled the small planes with wheels. We also had two hospitals with helipads a couple miles south and a little west of us. The north-south artery I lived near was often used for lining up with at least three runways. Normal noise to me, just like the cawing, cackling and croaking of the ravens and the gentle cheeps of the blackcap chickadees. On a quiet night, I could even hear the trains running. On a noisy night, sirens and the thumping music of teens out cruising.

      Because I wasn’t engrossed in my book, I saw the unmarked police car turn onto our street. Immediately my heart began pounding and sweat ran down my spine. Please, dear God, don’t tell me Quint’s coming back. Tell me he’s in jail, or something, anything, but don’t let him come back or try to get custody of Rob. A threat he’d voiced whenever the word divorce had come up between us.

      The black car slid past my house and I looked over my shoulder as it pulled up in front of Ben Weatherly’s house. Ben’s wife was the HOA president, so he kept an eye on things while grilling, tinkering or cleaning something. Air Force, like so many of the other military on the street, he kept his yard, driveway and garage immaculate. By comparison we looked like slobs, although I’d been slowly working on the issue.

      The houses were so close together, the cop was forced to park across the end of the driveway. Ben was in his garage messing with his four-wheelers. The officer in street clothes climbed out of the car and Ben strode down the drive and greeted him with familiarity, a grin and a handshake. Okay, friends. Nothing to do with me. I turned back to my book, silently cursing the buzzing of the mower that masked whatever bits of conversation I might have been able to pick up.

      It took a minute to penetrate my brain, but suddenly I realized the mower was passing directly beside my house. What the hell? I stood up and, with a painful grimace, knelt on the chair to look over the edge.

      The lieutenant was mowing my side of the lawn. He reached the street, swung the mower around and looked up at my balcony. The snotty brat actually grinned and waved up at me, but he didn’t stop until he’d mowed the final strip that ended at the side of my garage door. The СКАЧАТЬ