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scraped her knees. “What time is it?”
“Ten of eleven. Kennedy lands at Love Field in forty minutes.”
“Everything’s against us,” she said. “Isn’t it?”
I glanced at her and said, “Now you understand.”
8
We made it to North Pearl Street before the Studebaker’s engine blew. Steam boiled up from under
the hood. Something metallic clanged to the road. Sadie cried out in frustration, struck her thigh with
a balled fist, and used several bad words, but I was almost relieved. At least I wouldn’t have to wrestle
with the clutch anymore. I put the column shift in neutral and let the steaming car roll to the side of
the street. It came to rest in front of an alley with DO NOT BLOCK painted on the cobbles, but this
particular offense seemed minor to me after assault with a deadly weapon and car theft.
I got out and hobbled to the curb, where Sadie was already standing. “What time now?” she asked.
“Eleven-twenty.”
“How far do we have to go?”
“The Texas School Book Depository is on the corner of Houston and Elm. Three miles. Maybe
more.” The words were no more than out of my mouth when we heard the roar of jet engines from
behind us. We looked up and saw Air Force One on its descent path.
Sadie pushed her hair wearily back from her face. “What are we going to do?”
“Right now we’re going to walk,” I said.
“Put your arm around my shoulders. Let me take some of your weight.”
“I don’t need to do that, hon.”
But a block later, I did.
9
We approached the intersection of North Pearl and Ross Avenue at eleven-thirty, right around the
time Kennedy’s 707 would be rolling to a stop near the official greeters . . . including, of course, the
woman with the bouquet of red roses. The street corner ahead was dominated by the Cathedral
Santuario de Guadalupe. On the steps, below a statue of the saint with her arms outstretched, sat a
man with wooden crutches on one side and an enamel kitchen pot on the other. Propped against the
pot was a sign reading I AM CRIPPLE UP BAD! PLEASE GIVE WHAT YOU CAN BE A GOOD
SAMARIAN GOD LOVES YOU.
“Where are your crutches, Jake?”
“Back at Eden Fallows, in the bedroom closet.”
“You forgot your crutches?”
Women are good at rhetorical questions, aren’t they?
“I haven’t been using them that much lately. For short distances, I’m pretty much okay.” This
sounded marginally better than admitting that the main thing on my mind had been getting the hell
away from the little rehab cluster before Sadie arrived.
“Well, you could sure use a pair now.”
She ran ahead with enviable fleetness and spoke to the beggar on the church steps. By the time I
limped up, she was dickering with him. “A set of crutches like that costs nine dollars, and you want