Above the Waterfall Read Online Free Page B

to, not even Agnes.
    â€œThis ain’t right,” Gerald said, his voice growing angrier. “I’m of a mind to go over there and tell Tucker my ownself it’s not.”
    â€œYou don’t need to get put out about this, especially with your heart.”
    Gerald pointed at an overall pocket.
    â€œI got my nitro right here if I have cause to need it.”
    â€œI’d rather those stay tucked in your pocket, Gerald,” I said. “Look, I’ll remind C.J. about resort guests wandering onto your property and I’ll let him know you aren’t catching their trout. I can talk to Tucker as well. This economy’s got them on edge, same as a lot of folks. You can understand that. This will blow over if you’ll just wait it out a bit. But I need you to promise you’ll stay away from that creek, okay?”
    That seemed to calm Gerald some. At least his fingers no longer rubbed his palms.
    â€œOkay?” I asked again.
    â€œYeah,” Gerald said.
    â€œBecky been out to see you today?”
    â€œShe come by for a minute,” Gerald said, his voice still sullen. “Why? You told her about this?”
    â€œNot yet.”
    â€œIt ain’t your business to tell her.”
    â€œI think she needs to know.”
    â€œShe’ll take my side,” Gerald said stubbornly.
    I nodded at his field.
    â€œYou’ve got plenty around here to keep you busy. You take care of that corn and let me deal with the resort.”

Six
    There were two photos of Richard Pelfrey and Becky online. One dated July 11, 2010, was of them at a strip-mining protest that had turned violent. Amid fists and tear gas, Becky and Pelfrey faced off. Screaming at him to stop, she’d told me. But in the earlier photo, taken that April, Pelfrey’s arm was around her waist. The way she looked up at him, you could tell Becky loved him. People change, she’d said about Pelfrey, but it bothered me that Becky hadn’t seen any change until he threw a tear-gas canister. You’d think after Pelfrey she’d be less certain about people, but not in Gerald’s case, and now he’d not only trespassed but also put a good man in a tight spot.
    Becky smiled as she came up the trail to meet me, but,as always, her cheeks and brow tightened, causing a squint, as if smiling was a bit painful. She’d turned forty-three in April and, in spite of the girlish ponytail, her solid gray hair might cause some to think her older. Her face had creases from all the years outdoors, but Becky’s eyes were youthful. They were blue, but a blue that darkened the deeper you looked into them. We gave each other our usual calibrated hug, neither casual nor intimate. The drab uniform couldn’t hide Becky’s narrow waist and firm breasts and hips. Just brushing against them brought memories of the night at her cabin.
    â€œI’m sorry to hear about what happened in Atlanta,” I told her as I stepped back. “I know it brings back bad memories.”
    Becky’s shoulders hunched slightly, hands linked in front of her, as if even after three decades, just the mention of a school shooting caused her to make herself a smaller target. For a few moments the only sound was the stream. A kingfisher crossed low overhead and Becky watched it, though watching didn’t seem the right word for how intently she followed the bird’s flight. She did the same with a spider’s web or a wildflower. The first time I’d seen her do it, I’d thought it an affectation. It wasn’t though, it was a connection. The kingfisher followed the stream’s curve and disappeared.
    â€œThose flowers Friday night were like a Monet painting,” Becky said, brightening, “except better because the flowers were alive.”
    â€œSorry I missed that.”
    â€œI want to show you something,” Becky said, and took my hand, leading me across the bridge.
    â€œIf this is another