down the steps of the wooden podium, ignoring Ollie's vociferous protests that she was leaving too early. Gathering her long skirts, she threaded her way around families craning their necks to watch the high school marching band. It seemed to take forever to get down the block to the barricade.
The highway patrol officer was Tim Holloway, a local boy. Two years ago he'd been in her high school class -- not the brightest of students, but well-meaning. Surely he would tell her what they'd done with Gary.
"The man with the white car?" Tim asked, in response to Kerrin's carefully worded query. "Now, let me see, was there a guy with a white car? What kinda car, do you know?"
"No, I don't know what kind of car." Kerrin did her best not to wail. Did you arrest someone, a dangerous criminal, in the past ten minutes, you sad excuse for a lawman?
"Oh, yeah," Tim finally remembered, his lips curving upward. "That guy. I sent him up the hill to the visitor parking in Horace Winter's back pasture."
Kerrin closed her eyes and breathed a long, traitorous sigh of relief. She felt crazy. Why was she sighing with relief on Gary's behalf?
Meanwhile Tim rocked onto the balls of his feet, looking smug. "Though I guess soon enough he won't be considered a visitor, eh, Ms. Horton?"
Kerrin went still. "I -- I beg your pardon?"
"Well." Tim scratched his jaw. "He's hardly going to be a visitor once he starts teaching summer school, now, is he?"
"Teaching summer school?" Kerrin squeaked. "He -- he's teaching summer school?"
"Sure he is -- I thought you would know that if anybody did," Tim chided her. "Leastways, your brother seemed to think so." Tim began to look uncertain. "But I guess you're the boss, being the principal now and all so you would know best. Isn't he going to be the summer school teacher?"
The summer school teacher, for her teenagers. Gary Sullivan. Dear Lord. "Excuse me." Kerrin turned on her heel. She had to find Matt. He had to be the source of this misinformation. But how in the world had Matt connected Gary Sullivan to the "applicant" she'd said she was interviewing? And so fast!
Rumors in Freedom were like wildfires in the brush. Kerrin would have to move like lightning if there were any hope of crushing this one while it was still only smoking.
~~~
Gary closed the door of his borrowed car and leaned his forearms on its roof. The empty field smelled of hay and freshness. He breathed in deeply, holding it in his lungs for a long time. One of the small but consistently oppressive things about prison was the smell. It got to you, the smell of confinement, the smell of fear.
Slipping the car keys into his pants pocket, Gary turned and looked down the slope at the town of Freedom. It was even smaller than he'd imagined, nothing more than two blocks worth of shops along the highway and then maybe a square mile grid of graceful old houses, split on either side of that highway.
A faint shimmer of apprehension went through him. He was on his own now. The real test was here. The real test wasn't about finding the security problems at the DWP facility. It wasn't even about taking care of that federal agent's agenda.
The real test was if he could fight temptation.
Even now, barely ten minutes into town, he felt the urge to saunter down and calmly case the place. But Gary knew where that was coming from. He knew the urge meant he was feeling out of control. Stealing was a way of gaining control; it was a way of creating and possessing a situation in such a way that no one else could interfere.
But knowing didn't necessarily mean he could stop himself. Hell, he'd been stealing things since he was about five years old. What made him think that now, after a consistent thirty years of such behavior, he was going to change?
Turning deliberately from his view of the town, Gary closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. That wasn't the way to think. The past was past. He had to take it one day at a time. One minute at a time.
The highway patrol officer was Tim Holloway, a local boy. Two years ago he'd been in her high school class -- not the brightest of students, but well-meaning. Surely he would tell her what they'd done with Gary.
"The man with the white car?" Tim asked, in response to Kerrin's carefully worded query. "Now, let me see, was there a guy with a white car? What kinda car, do you know?"
"No, I don't know what kind of car." Kerrin did her best not to wail. Did you arrest someone, a dangerous criminal, in the past ten minutes, you sad excuse for a lawman?
"Oh, yeah," Tim finally remembered, his lips curving upward. "That guy. I sent him up the hill to the visitor parking in Horace Winter's back pasture."
Kerrin closed her eyes and breathed a long, traitorous sigh of relief. She felt crazy. Why was she sighing with relief on Gary's behalf?
Meanwhile Tim rocked onto the balls of his feet, looking smug. "Though I guess soon enough he won't be considered a visitor, eh, Ms. Horton?"
Kerrin went still. "I -- I beg your pardon?"
"Well." Tim scratched his jaw. "He's hardly going to be a visitor once he starts teaching summer school, now, is he?"
"Teaching summer school?" Kerrin squeaked. "He -- he's teaching summer school?"
"Sure he is -- I thought you would know that if anybody did," Tim chided her. "Leastways, your brother seemed to think so." Tim began to look uncertain. "But I guess you're the boss, being the principal now and all so you would know best. Isn't he going to be the summer school teacher?"
The summer school teacher, for her teenagers. Gary Sullivan. Dear Lord. "Excuse me." Kerrin turned on her heel. She had to find Matt. He had to be the source of this misinformation. But how in the world had Matt connected Gary Sullivan to the "applicant" she'd said she was interviewing? And so fast!
Rumors in Freedom were like wildfires in the brush. Kerrin would have to move like lightning if there were any hope of crushing this one while it was still only smoking.
~~~
Gary closed the door of his borrowed car and leaned his forearms on its roof. The empty field smelled of hay and freshness. He breathed in deeply, holding it in his lungs for a long time. One of the small but consistently oppressive things about prison was the smell. It got to you, the smell of confinement, the smell of fear.
Slipping the car keys into his pants pocket, Gary turned and looked down the slope at the town of Freedom. It was even smaller than he'd imagined, nothing more than two blocks worth of shops along the highway and then maybe a square mile grid of graceful old houses, split on either side of that highway.
A faint shimmer of apprehension went through him. He was on his own now. The real test was here. The real test wasn't about finding the security problems at the DWP facility. It wasn't even about taking care of that federal agent's agenda.
The real test was if he could fight temptation.
Even now, barely ten minutes into town, he felt the urge to saunter down and calmly case the place. But Gary knew where that was coming from. He knew the urge meant he was feeling out of control. Stealing was a way of gaining control; it was a way of creating and possessing a situation in such a way that no one else could interfere.
But knowing didn't necessarily mean he could stop himself. Hell, he'd been stealing things since he was about five years old. What made him think that now, after a consistent thirty years of such behavior, he was going to change?
Turning deliberately from his view of the town, Gary closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. That wasn't the way to think. The past was past. He had to take it one day at a time. One minute at a time.
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