A Feather in the Rain Read Online Free PDF

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11
On the Lam
    T hough thin as a pen, Holly tossed the stuffed duffel into the overhead bin like a farmer bucking hay. She punched it back so the door would close, then climbed into the window seat and crammed another bag under her feet. She wore dark glasses, a ball cap over a ponytail, and a soft white shirt under her brother’s blazer, jeans, and handmade buckskin moccasins. By the time the plane took off, she had her notebook in her lap, a pen in hand, and headphones on. A half-hour later, she took a deep conscious breath and blew it out as if to purge herself of New York.
    There was no attempt on her part to draw attention to herself. She wore no makeup or visible adornments of any kind and hoped to be undisclosed behind the incognita of black lenses. Yet an aura compelled even the dullest eyes to follow her. Aware of the guy in the tie next to her feeding figures in columns to his laptop, she hoped his occupation would last the length of the flight. At that moment, he stopped typing, pinched his chin, then turned to herand said, “Are you going home…or are you leaving it?”
    Holly pulled her headphones to one side. “Sorry?”
    â€œAre you going home or are you leaving it?” He was a Rogaine user, in his early forties, who if fluorescence could give one a tan would be brown as a berry. Instead he was the color of the belly of a whale.
    Holly was amused. Then she said, “I’m not sure.”
    He waited for more. There wasn’t any. Then he asked if she wanted to explain.
    â€œI’m going to see my mommy.”
    â€œYour mommy?” It had traces of challenge and ridicule.
    Holly simply smiled and replied, “Yes…my mommy.” She replaced her headphones and turned to glance out the window and then down to her notebook. Rogaine man ceased to exist.
    She began to write in a distinctive artistic scroll, unhurried, recording stampeding thoughts and surging emotions as well as words could capture them. She knew one thing for sure. This flight was portentous. Where it would take her was not spelled out on her ticket. She adjusted a pillow under her head and closed her eyes.

12
Colorado Bound
    T he last thing he stuffed under the seat was a snub-nosed Smith and Wesson three fifty-seven magnum. He turned to Abbie to repeat last minute instructions, to which she replied, “Get in the truck and go!” Then she reached up and pulled him down to her and planted a kiss on his cheek and said, “Be safe.”
    He stopped in Kerrville to top up the tanks and get a second coffee. Back on the road, the country poured open on each side. His mind wandered in its own corridors as he listened to Patsy Cline lamenting calamities of love. The haunting echoes of her voice converted music into portraits of his soul.
    Straight ahead in the shimmering distance of the empty road, he saw Zack as a nine-year-old boy learning to ride a skateboard, coming at him fast, blond hair flying, eyes wide and howling with joy and the pride of achievement. One of the beautiful memories of Zack loving life. Before the darkness came on him.

13
The Sweet Scent of Kiowa
    T he contrast between New York City and Kiowa, Colorado, where the deer and antelope play and its population of eight hundred and seventy-six people was a numbing shock. Her dad had always wanted to live in the west and be a cowboy. So there they were on ten acres in a small redwood house with a barn and a couple of pastures with three horses, two dogs, five ducks, and a goat named Bingo. She spent the first forty-eight hours in a trance. She slept and walked and slept and walked again.
    The setting sun streaked the sky with flame and lavender. A breeze blew the sage-scent across the porch where she sat and ruffled her hair. She hoped that here with her parents, they could confront the grief of her brother’s death and somehow heal.
    Holly crawled between the chilly sheets of her grandmother’s ornate bed. Incense