Proud Pink Sky by Redfern Jon Barrett

Author:Redfern Jon Barrett [Barrett, Redfern Jon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bywater Books
Published: 2023-02-11T00:00:00+00:00

22.

In this way months passed by, in excuses and secret visits. Cissie’d learned the trans town like the back of her hand—or famble, as Sam said. She became a fixture, just like the faraway hum from the bridge overhead, just like the countless tiny generators that worked relentlessly to light the streets and houses. She learned that there were only two modes for Remould’s streets: comfortingly crowded, or eerily empty. The main street, for example, buzzed through all hours. There the endless evening was brightened by strings of year-round Christmas lights, sizzling neon signs, and red bulbs which glowed from upper windows while daring tourists waited in front of the doors below. Other streets, however, lay dim and chilly, with only the soft buzz of distant traffic and occasional clack of footsteps.

The street they were currently on was one of the eerie, dark, quiet ones. The muscles of Sam’s arms were taut as he screwed in the bracket for a garbage can, grunting with each turn as Cissie held the can in place. Not for the first time she wondered if he was sexually interested in her (as a few of the boys from her church had once been), but he was so relaxed, so free of that awkward erotic tension.

Then again, what did she really know about men and their ways? The only male friend she’d ever had was Howard’s old workmate, Rob. Kind, jovial Rob, who’d always taken her seriously, always had something to talk to her about. But he and Howard had fallen out over some nonsense, years ago, when they’d first gone to Berlin, and she’d not seen him since. Where was he now? Back in Ohio, she supposed. Besides, Rob didn’t count, not really. He’d been Howard’s friend, not hers.

“And how’s the old bones?” Sam asked, his low, melodic voice echoing down the road. She still hadn’t learned much about him, but, oddly, he was quite curious about her own rather unremarkable life. In Remould it was she who was the oddity.

“The old what?” she queried, arms trembling as she held the metal cylinder steady.

“The husband,” he replied, reaching for another screw. “Homer. How’s he doing?”

Sam was dryly teasing her, she knew that, but she corrected him, nonetheless. “It’s Howard, I told you his name is Howard.”

“Yes, that one.”

“Well, he’s been doing just fine,” she answered, her fingers numbed by the growing cold. “Better than fine, actually. He’s been . . . cheerful. Kind, attentive, playful with the kids. Maybe it’s this study group he’s got going.”

Study group was the term she’d settled on, the label she’d slapped over Howard’s gang of Bible-toting, middle-aged men. Yes, she’d been worried at first, but Howard no longer pushed his faith onto her—the family prayers had stopped, and she could come and go as she pleased. Ms. Fortier was right: he had set up a boys’ club and it had relaxed him, made him feel better. Besides, they were quite harmless. When they’d finally met again in her

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