Jack Scranton

Todd contemplated his future. Okay, that's false. More like what to do with the rest of the evening. Maybe lash together that story for Creative Writing Ms. Jenkins expected on Friday. Which was, wow, like tomorrow!

He left me alone on the couch as he went downstairs. From hidden speakers flowed one of Beethoven's piano sonatas, its dark harmonies and urgent, roiling melodies in perfect counterpoint to my own inner torment. I'm not sure how long I sat there but when I glanced at my watch I realized that I would never get home in time to keep my husband from wondering why I was late.

Lane saw her his second morning on the job. He and his men were raising framed walls onto the poured foundation, struggling to hold them in place when he saw her at the edge of the trees, staring. Blonde hair pulled loosely back, with strands falling every way; blue work shirt tied beneath world-class tits; jeans cut off nearly to her crotch. She was there to be seen and waited long enough to make sure she'd gotten her way.

Even a quarter mile off, even before he recognized the shape, Bone knew the sound. It cut through the gooney weeds and rolled over the South Florida marsh with crystal clarity; only a vintage Harley made that staccato rumble. Still in good shape, he noted as it turned onto the dirt path. It better be. He'd polished every chrome surface, rebuilt it from the bottom up. A piece of his soul thrummed in that machine.

Fred's truck kicked up a cloud of dust that hung over the dirt road long after he'd turned onto the highway and the sound of his engine faded. Still Maria stared after him, not believing he was really gone for the day. The heat wrapped around her face and body like a blanket. The unfamiliar freedom made her giddy.

The desk clerk broke into a wide grin when he heard their name.