once when Diane's trailer had burned. Karen noted something different in Diane's voice. She didn't sound upset, and she wasn't crying, but she sounded . . . hollow. Their conversation was prosaic though, as always--until Diane suddenly blurted, "Somebody shot my kids! Cheryl's dead ... I'm shot too."
Karen gasped and began to cry. She turned with the phone in her hand and watched the tall, bearded man who stood nearby. rle could hear her conversation, but his face was averted and he ^ntinued to sort mail for his route. He knew she was talking to ^ane, and he had given everybody in the Chandler Post Office explicit orders that he would not talk to Diane. Diane had called w\ fegular as clockwork for weeks--every morning at 7:00 a.m. "t Lew had suddenly stopped accepting her calls. And he'd sniped "Return to sender" on all her letters and packages. rhis news was too shocking not to share. Karen covered the Pnone and whispered urgently.
46 ANN RULE
"Lew, I think this is a call you should take. Please talk to her."
Grimacing, he reached for the phone. He heard her voice
across the miles, the voice he'd heard a hundred times, a thousand times. She sounded just the same.
"Hello, Lew," she said softly. "How's it going? How's everything in Chandler? Are you doing all right? Are you happy babe?"
He mumbled replies, anxious to hang up. Her words had
mesmerized him before, tumbling him around until he no longer knew if his desires were his own or what she wanted. He hadn't heard from her in weeks, and he'd hoped maybe it was really over, that his life had finally settled back to normal. No more hassles. Only his wife and his job. What the hell did she want now?
"What's going on, Diane? What happened? Karen's crying." She hesitated. He could hear her draw in a shuddering breath at the other end of the long wire between Oregon and Arizona.
"What's going on Diane?" he pressed.
She told him.
"What happenedT'
"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know? The kids are shot. You're shot. What happened? Who did it?"
"Lew, I don't know. We were on a dirt road about eleven last night . . . out in the country and we left my friend's house
. . . and there was this man standing in the middle of the road waving his arms ... he wanted my car and he just started shooting at the car . . ."
Lew sank back against the wall. What did she expect him to do? What could he do for her now? He began to shake. She wanted too much from him. If he gave her his blood, she'd want his breath. If he gave her the oxygen from his lungs, she'd ask for the marrow from his bones. Nothing was ever enough. She was reaching back for him, trying to draw him to her with her mad stories of murder.
"Give me your room number, and the hospital phone, Diane," he said. "I'm writing it down. I'm giving this to Karen. But Diane--if you're coming to Chandler, any time at all, don't con-ie and see me."
"I love you, Lew," she said softly.
"I have to get back to work, Diane." i
SMALL SACRIFICES 47
"Can I talk to Karen, then?"
"Karen's already left on the route."
He hung up the phone and turned into the bright sunlight. He spoke to no one in particular: "I don't know what to think. I just don't know what to think."
He shouldered his mailbag and walked slowly out into the heat of the morning.
She had expected that coldness from Lew. He was scared. She knew him as well as—no, better—than anyone. Lew hated kinks, hassles. Maybe that was why she loved him so; he just wanted to live and not have problems, just be happy. Naturally, he would back away from her now; it was too awful for anyone to deal with, at first. But he'd come back and help her get over it. She hoped the police wouldn't bother Lew. He'd consider that a definite kink,
CHAPTER 4 i
Even before Diane called Lew, Fred Hugi had already awakened on that Friday morning, May 20, 1983. He didn't turn on the radio as he dressed, gulped a cup of coffee, and headed down the long private lane from his house to
Karen gasped and began to cry. She turned with the phone in her hand and watched the tall, bearded man who stood nearby. rle could hear her conversation, but his face was averted and he ^ntinued to sort mail for his route. He knew she was talking to ^ane, and he had given everybody in the Chandler Post Office explicit orders that he would not talk to Diane. Diane had called w\ fegular as clockwork for weeks--every morning at 7:00 a.m. "t Lew had suddenly stopped accepting her calls. And he'd sniped "Return to sender" on all her letters and packages. rhis news was too shocking not to share. Karen covered the Pnone and whispered urgently.
46 ANN RULE
"Lew, I think this is a call you should take. Please talk to her."
Grimacing, he reached for the phone. He heard her voice
across the miles, the voice he'd heard a hundred times, a thousand times. She sounded just the same.
"Hello, Lew," she said softly. "How's it going? How's everything in Chandler? Are you doing all right? Are you happy babe?"
He mumbled replies, anxious to hang up. Her words had
mesmerized him before, tumbling him around until he no longer knew if his desires were his own or what she wanted. He hadn't heard from her in weeks, and he'd hoped maybe it was really over, that his life had finally settled back to normal. No more hassles. Only his wife and his job. What the hell did she want now?
"What's going on, Diane? What happened? Karen's crying." She hesitated. He could hear her draw in a shuddering breath at the other end of the long wire between Oregon and Arizona.
"What's going on Diane?" he pressed.
She told him.
"What happenedT'
"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know? The kids are shot. You're shot. What happened? Who did it?"
"Lew, I don't know. We were on a dirt road about eleven last night . . . out in the country and we left my friend's house
. . . and there was this man standing in the middle of the road waving his arms ... he wanted my car and he just started shooting at the car . . ."
Lew sank back against the wall. What did she expect him to do? What could he do for her now? He began to shake. She wanted too much from him. If he gave her his blood, she'd want his breath. If he gave her the oxygen from his lungs, she'd ask for the marrow from his bones. Nothing was ever enough. She was reaching back for him, trying to draw him to her with her mad stories of murder.
"Give me your room number, and the hospital phone, Diane," he said. "I'm writing it down. I'm giving this to Karen. But Diane--if you're coming to Chandler, any time at all, don't con-ie and see me."
"I love you, Lew," she said softly.
"I have to get back to work, Diane." i
SMALL SACRIFICES 47
"Can I talk to Karen, then?"
"Karen's already left on the route."
He hung up the phone and turned into the bright sunlight. He spoke to no one in particular: "I don't know what to think. I just don't know what to think."
He shouldered his mailbag and walked slowly out into the heat of the morning.
She had expected that coldness from Lew. He was scared. She knew him as well as—no, better—than anyone. Lew hated kinks, hassles. Maybe that was why she loved him so; he just wanted to live and not have problems, just be happy. Naturally, he would back away from her now; it was too awful for anyone to deal with, at first. But he'd come back and help her get over it. She hoped the police wouldn't bother Lew. He'd consider that a definite kink,
CHAPTER 4 i
Even before Diane called Lew, Fred Hugi had already awakened on that Friday morning, May 20, 1983. He didn't turn on the radio as he dressed, gulped a cup of coffee, and headed down the long private lane from his house to
Similar Books
