The Body of David Hayes Read Online Free PDF Page A

being reminded, him stealing glimpses of her and offering a smile, and she returning it and feeling traitorous. Then it was dishes, and Miles with a broom he could barely control and Sarah announcing for all she had to go potty. Lou sweeping the child up in his strong arms and warning her to hold it as he rushed her out of the room.
    “Mommy,” Miles said, pointing down. “Muddy shoes you leave in twos.” The school was teaching him all sorts of expressions like this.
    She looked down, her pulse quickening. Mud and grass clung to the sides of both shoes.
I ran out to a meeting with the caterers. Right
. And Sherlock Holmes flushing the toilet for Sarah.
    At first she didn’t remember having climbed out of the car, but then she recalled opening the hood and closing it, just as David had instructed.
    She glanced toward the living room—where Lou would be coming from—wondering if he’d already caught the mud. If she tried to hide it now, would it just compound her problems? They both knew there was no place downtown she would pick up mud and grass like this. The catering was out of a fabulous restaurant called Wild Ginger. Lou had helped her pick it. No city parks between the bank and Wild Ginger. She heard the toilet gurgle.
    She cupped her hand beneath the faucet, and splashed her blouse, jumping back, as if an accident. “Dang!” she hollered, brushing herself off. Her silk blouse went translucent and she made sure it stuck to her chest, for she knew if anything would divert Lou’s attention away from her shoes, her wet blouse would. They passed in the doorway.
    Lou said, “All by herself.”
    Liz said, “I splashed.”
    Lou said, “Lucky me.”
    She hated him for being so predictable, for him allowing her to take advantage like this.
    “I’ll change,” she announced.
    “I hope not,” he said, turning her meaning. Lou Boldt loved word games. “Sweetheart?”
    She hadn’t realized she’d started crying until her vision blurred. She cleared her right eye with her fingertip. “Hormones again.”
    He looked at her oddly, as if he didn’t know her but seemed to buy it just the same, and that hurt worse. “I’ll start the bath.”
    “Thanks.”
    “For them,” he teased.
    “I know.”
    “You okay?”
    “No,” she said honestly.
    “Okay,” he said, backing away and slipping into the kitchen. “Take your time.”
    When they finally made it to bed, she realized it was horrible timing to start into this now. He was talking about how tired he was, having been up the night before with Danny Foreman. She had her head buried in a church periodical, a magazine with testimonies of healing, and she searched the pages for guidance, knowing she’d pick up something if she stayed with it. Finally, reading a piece on avoidance, she placed the magazine down.
    She gathered her courage. “You feel like talking for a minute?”
    He fought off a yawn and said yes. He meant no, but that he’d try.
    “I didn’t go to the caterer.” A feeling of weight liftedoff her, the childish glee of watching a hot-air balloon rise into a blue sky.
    “I know.”
    A moment of incredulity. “You
know?”
    “Birthday shopping, right? I was ready to cover for you, if you needed it. I’m thinking of getting him a sport coat. He keeps asking for a coat like mine. Tweed, maybe. For his recital. Can you imagine? A little button-down shirt and tie? Tell me that wouldn’t be amazing.”
    “Amazing,” she said, choking back a knot in her throat, reaching over and gently touching his hair. It wasn’t going to happen. Not tonight. He closed his eyes and smiled, lost in that imagination of his. She scratched his scalp, like rubbing a cat. “I’ll get the light,” she said.
    “Um,” he answered, already on his way to sleep.

THREE
    “IMPRESSIVE,” DANNY FOREMAN CALLED OUT loudly as the paper target crept toward Liz. It hung from a clip attached to a belt drive, allowing the shooter to replace it with a fresh one and then