Becca sat upright on their living room’s couch and stared down at the open book in her lap but hadn’t turned a page in fifteen minutes. Zach was reading at his desk wedged into one corner of the living room but kept glancing at Becca out of the corner of his eye. Outside light rain fell in the growing dark in the wake of the violent thunderstorm that had passed through the town around suppertime. One gutter with a clogged downspout (Zach kept all the gutters clean but one of them had a crushed drain that would have to be excavated and replaced) dripped into the metal bucket by the hose bib, the steady drip-drip-drip echoing through the front window cracked to let in the cooler air.
Zach finally rose from his chair and walked over to Becca. “You’re not that slow a reader, and that book doesn’t have any one scene meriting such a degree of contemplation.”
Becca looked up at him with a wan smile. “How do you know?”
He reached into her lap, took up the book, and read from the open page:
The horse flared at the sight and dragged the carriage down the slope in a swirling vortex of dust and clamor that tossed fair Shauna and stoic Brad about like a pair of ragdolls, threatening to dislodge him from his seat and shake loose the twins knotted in her stomach.
“See,” Becca said. “Plenty of food for thought.”
Zach laughed. “The swirling vortex part or the pair of ragdolls part?”
“The twins knotted in her stomach part.”
Zach’s grin faded. He marked the page with a torn scrap of envelope, set the book on the coffee table, and sat very close beside Becca, their arms and shoulders touching. “What twins knotted in what stomach?” he asked, staring at her gravely.
Becca laughed at his misunderstanding. “I’m not pregnant, silly.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek then sat back. “I just feel torn up—it does feel like something’s knotted inside me, though I’d not even gotten to the part you read. Maybe God is trying to tell us something.”
“Through a pulp romance?”
“Yes, maybe.”
“A risky messenger.”
“Maybe just through life. Maybe I’m not ready for this job, Zach.”
“Jonah?”
“Yes, Jonah; but it’s more than just him. It’s the whole system, Zach—these people, most of them anyway, just want a chance at improvement, want a little ray of hope. But they meet roadblocks at every turn. And if you find your way past one, there’s another just around the corner. It’s no wonder they get frustrated and give up and turn to dope or alcohol or welfare. I’m frustrated and I’ve been at it less than a month. I’m used to solving problems, Zach, to putting my head down and figuring something out and fixing it. That’s not an option in the lives of most of these folks. Their lives are unfixable; and it’s not their fault, it’s the system—the way things are set up.”
“Tell me where things stand with Jonah.”
“He’s screwed—one more lost soul.”
“Any details behind that optimistic summary?”
“The school system’s hands are tied; any actions they could take require time and they’re running up against the summer break. Child Welfare’s hands are tied due to the lack of any verifiable report of abuse. Mrs. Brackett is the only one who could document such abuse, and she’s not going to take any official action against her granddaughter.”
“Why not?”
“She’s not going to do it, Zach. She’s lived her whole life being oppressed by the white establishment; she’s not going to join that side now against her own flesh and blood, not even for Jonah.”
“Have you asked her?”
“No, and I’m not going to. Jonah means a hell of a lot to me, but I’m not going to throw his great-grandmother into the social services meat grinder in hopes that it might help him. I’d end up destroying two lives rather than watching one fall by the wayside.”
“Still no word from Latonya?”
“No word, no sighting, no trail. She’s disappeared into the vast and impenetrable underworld of the Shefford projects, taking Jonah with her. Worst part is, I forced her hand. At least before, we knew where he was—safe with his great-grandmother. Now he’s gone and will remain gone long as she wants him to be.”
“A little melodramatic, don’t you think?”
“You want to try to find them? Let’s go right now, drive into East Shefford and start knocking on doors—wonder how long we’ll last? You could turn the National Guard loose down there, and they couldn’t find them if she didn’t want to be found. They call East Beirut a living hell, but it doesn’t have anything on East Shefford.”
“Then we have to make it worth her while to do the right thing.”
“And just how are we going to do that? We can’t buy her out—the ministry’s discretionary fund is already in the red, and you and I can barely pay our rent. Where’s the money going to come from?”
“Maybe there are enticements other than money.”
“Zach, trust me—in that world, the only real enticement is money and what it can buy.”
“Just have to use the system to beat the system.”
“Trinia Wells told me that very same thing this morning, just before she called back to say the system had holes in it and we’d fallen into one.”
“Jonah still got a spot in the Summer Learning Program?”
“She’ll hold it till Wednesday.”
“Next week?”
“The day after tomorrow.”
“Have to work fast.”
“On what?”
“I’ll let you know if it works.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“Then we’ll find something that does.”
“Like what?”
Zach turned on the couch and faced her, put his index finger over her lips, then replaced his finger with his own lips. As they kissed, Becca let the gentle pressure of his body slowly ease her sideways till she was lying on her back on the couch and Zach was atop her but leaning some of his weight on his elbows and knees. Their lips remained locked together, even as their hands explored the rich terrain of their clothed bodies.
Becca’s hands finally settled on one area of Zach’s body, excavated their way through layers of clothing till she reached his warm skin. She spoke directly into Zach’s mouth, their lips still locked together. “At least we know one thing that still works.” Her words bounced around inside his mouth as another body part bounced against her welcoming hands.