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Sgt. Mullins walked away and Vi stood watching the race.

Across the creek, Max led the team in jumping jacks.

A runner limped by, stricken with cramps, red-faced and crying.

Vi wished Sgt. Mullins had taken her off the case and she burned with self-hate and shame.

28

IN a manila folder entitled "THE MINUTES" I came at last to the following string of journal entries.

It was 1:30 a.m. and my eyes burned with strain.

With the moon directly overhead I lay back against the cold windshield and read Orson’s scrawl in the minor light.

Woodside, Vermont: November 1, 1992

Sat in my booth at the pub all afternoon, read the most atrocious collection of papers I’ve ever had the misfortune to grade (coffee better today). Highlight was the piece on gladiators. Curious amount of detail on the lunch interlude executions. Well researched. Author thoroughly interested in his subject matter. Hmm. Awarded him a C+, because, let’s face it, it was still a real piece of shit.

Woodside, Vermont: November 6, 1992

Called on our execution expert in class today. Never do that again. He turned red, wouldn’t answer me, look at me. Stopped him on the way out of class and apologized for embarrassing him. What a peculiar kid. Asked him if he liked beer. He said no. Coffee? No. Finally, just asked what the fuck he did like, and he smiled sheepishly, said pancakes. We’re having pancakes tomorrow.

Woodside, Vermont: November 7, 1992

Met this Luther kid at the Champlain Diner. Had breakfast for dinner. Think he was suspicious of why I wanted to see him outside of class. For the first twenty minutes I bored him to tears with a slew of questions, like where he was from, where he lived in Woodside, if he liked school…he was having a terrible time, so I mentioned how much I’d enjoyed reading his term paper. That brightened him up, started asking all sorts of things about the gladiator fights, Caligula. Told him about my thesis, shared some of my theories. He was very impressed. We were waiting for the waitress to bring the check when this woman passed by our table. Real pretty thing. Watched Luther watch her, and I saw it. Hard to put into words. Let’s just say I sensed something in him, in those three seconds his eyes followed the movements of this Woodside knockout. When he looked back at me, I couldn’t help but smile. His black eyes had become…reptilian. I thought Luther was going to say something, but he just blushed.

He’ll do.

Woodside, Vermont: December 9, 1992

Last day of classes. Haven’t spoken to Mr. Kite in a month. On the way out of class, told him I looked forward to seeing him next semester. Said he wasn’t coming back. Flunked out. That shy, ashamed, little boy again. Made sure to get his home address. Maybe I’ll take him to the desert next summer.

Ocracoke Island, North Carolina: June 11, 1993

Been following LK around this island for two days. What fun! Lives with his parents in an old, stone house on the sound. Last night at 10:30, he went for a walk by himself. If he goes again tonight, I’ll take him.

29

IN Swan Quarter Vi boarded the last ferry of the day. Once the vessel had cleared the pilings, she grabbed the loaf of moldy bread Max had suggested she take and stepped out of the Cherokee.

She strolled back to the stern where a flock of chatty gulls tailed the boat. As the wharf and timber pylons diminished in the wake, Vi untwined the twist tie and pinched off a chunk of bread. The moment she extended her arm a fat gull swooped down and grabbed her offering in its beak.

As she fed the birds and watched the coastal plain of North Carolina shrink into a fiber of green, she thanked God for the people she loved. She prayed for Max, for her parents, for strength, and lastly for her sergeant’s recovery.

Barry Mullins had taken his son, Patrick, out for barbecue after winning the cross-country championship last night. They were both in the hospital this morning with food poisoning so Vi would be interviewing the Kites on her own.

A little