Michael Malone - Weebly

made her Mrs. Maynard Henry that very month. A year
later, this happens. Well, I could have warned him.
Stick to your own." Sarah counted out change. "Sorry,
honey, but that's it, not enough silver to hold down the
eyes on a dead man. My boy, Jimmy, he saw Raoul
hitching Maynard's trailer to his pickup, ran over to
Fred's Fries, and told Maynard he'd better come see.
Maynard caught up to them slowing down for the ridge
—just outdrove them—run them into the shoulder,
jerked Chinkie out, unhitched the trailer, and then just
shoved Raoul, still sitting like a fool in his pickup,
wetting his tight pants." Sarah took a breath with gusto.
"And, like I say, right over the top. Both legs and three
ribs snapped like wishbones on a chicken. Right near
your house."
"I don't know him," said Mrs. Haig. She watched
the boy organize her groceries into their bags; he chose
among possibilities like an artist with collage materials.
Sarah helped him squeeze the bags into the pushcart.
"Oh, Judith, you went to school with Maynard's big
brother, Arn. Arn Henry? Scored twice for Dixwell in
the playoffs our senior year?" Exasperated, Mrs.