By Christie Craig
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Nan plopped down beside Macy. ” Her grandma’s voice cracked with emotion, and Nan never cracked. She was strong, together, everything Macy wanted but often failed to be. As she’d failed Billy. Images of him sitting across from her at the prison flashed in Macy’s mind. He’d been so afraid. Why hadn’t she done something? This was her fault. He’d asked for help and she hadn’t done a damn thing. Gripping two handfuls of the faded green shag carpet, she rocked back and forth. ” Nan brushed a hand over Macy’s back.
She switched on the radio to chase away her thoughts. Disturbing thoughts. Downright gorgeous— The radio announcer’s voice pumped through the airwaves. ” Macy immediately slowed her car, shocked. “A guard and an inmate were shot during the escape,” the broadcaster continued. “Both are listed in critical condition. Police—Wait. We’ve just received another report. ” The inmate died? Died? Died! Macy told herself it wasn’t Billy, but all she could hear was her brother saying, And now he wants to kill me.
Not that Faye Moore’s crying would surprise anyone. In the last three years, she had taken her part-time job of hysterics and made it a full-fledged career. Hundreds of trees had fallen to make the facial tissues to dry her eyes. The doctor said it was menopause. Macy decided it was men. Macy sympathized, because she’d almost succumbed to the malady herself. ” But Macy’s chest ached watching her mom dry her tears. Crying could be contagious. ” Her mom snatched another Kleenex from a box on the counter and went to work with it.