Free Cry Me a River by Nancy Holder

with her DVDs in his hand, the coldness turned to ice, as if she were standing in a cave in the Himalayas. If anything ever happened to her boy …
    “Why are you here?” she asked. She clutched the roll of paper towels like a weapon. “What’s going on, Earl?”
    “I’m not here for any special reason. I just heard the laughter,” he replied. “I knew Clay was over, and I thought I’d pop by. I like Clay.”
    She took a protective step toward the hall. “Clay,” she yelled, but she heard the shower going. He wouldn’t be able to hear her. She swallowed. “Nothing’s going to happen to him. I want you to tell me that.”
    He only looked at her. “How you’re feeling? That’s how God feels when you’re being reckless, taking chances.
You
. That’s how He feels about you.”
    “What is this?” she asked, edgy, defensive. “Is this some kind of test, or lesson?” She put the towels on the breakfast bar and stomped down the hall. She rapped on the door with the back of her hand, fingers doubled into a fist. “Clay?” she called loudly. “You okay?”
    The water went off.
    “Aunt Grace?” Clay called. “Did you say something?”
    “Yeah, um.” She closed her eyes. “Just … there’s a clean towel on the rack. The blue one.”
    “Thanks.” A beat. “Are you okay, Aunt Grace?”
    “Yeah.” She sagged a little, relief making her go weak in the knees. The water went back on, and she strode back into the living room. “This is not okay, man,” she began.
    But Earl was gone.

CHAPTER
         SEVEN
    “If we’re so smart, why aren’t we solvent?” Rhetta asked Ronnie as they sat across from each other at the kitchen table. Now that he’d told her all of it—that their savings were gone, and the farm was probably going to have to go, too—Rhetta couldn’t keep the cutting remarks from coming. She knew he felt terrible. He looked awful—he’d lost weight and dark rings circled his eyes. She wanted to feel sorry for him. But the farm hadn’t been his to lose—it had been in her family for over a hundred years.
A hundred years
.
    “How many times can I say I’m sorry?” he demanded, his voice rising. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
    He reached for her hand across the table and she forced herself not to bat it away. Anger welled inside her; she pursed her lips shut. She got up and poured herself another glass of wine from the nearly empty bottle beside the microwave. It was three in the morning and the kids were asleep. She and Ronnie seemed to be doing this weird thing where they waited for Todd and Mae to go to bed, and then they sniped at each other until either one of them had had enough or the sun started to come up. Rhetta hated it. Nevertheless, once the kids were down for the night, she met him in the kitchen, and they quarreled. Maybe wine was the wrong thing to drink at times like this.
    Maybe tequila would be better.
    Carrying her wine with her, she grabbed her jean jacket on the hook by the door. Slipped into her cowboy boots without any socks. Ronnie didn’t say anything.
    She went outside. The wind had died down, which was nice, she supposed. Heading for the barn, she breathed in the cold, fresh air spiced with mud and cow manure. If they did have to sell, they were going to move into an apartment complex. She didn’t think she could bear it. After the intensity of a day in the Crime Lab, wallowing in disgusting Dumpsters or collecting blood and fecal matter in trashed motel rooms, she needed the clean solitude of the country. Safe harbor. Retreat. A place where she could pretend the whole world was as nurturing as her farm.
    Fresh hay. The strong scent greeted her as she pushed open the door. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked over at Holy Cow, the animal Grace had liberated from Alvin Green, the richest cattleman in Oklahoma. Holy Cow was white with black markings that looked like the face of Jesus Christ on the Shroud of Turin. If they had to