Free Things that Fall from the Sky (Vintage Contemporaries) by Kevin Brockmeier Page A

doorway, and Katherine turns to see a metal carriage there, weighted down with blankets. “Would you be a dear and move that for me?” her mother asks.
    “Of course,” says Katherine. “On my way out.”
    “Good,” her mother says, and yawns. “I had a dream about your father last night. I wanted to tell you that. We were living in our first house, the house we bought when he got his promotion. The one with the deck in the back and the pine trees in the yard. You were just a baby. Do you remember that? It was summer and—oh—something happened. It was a lovely dream. We were very, very happy.” She sighs. “Why doesn’t your father ever come to see me? Have you asked him why he never comes to see me?”
    Katherine feels a prickle of fear—almost panic—washing through her. She can feel it in her hands and in her shoulders. Her father is seven years dead now, resting beneath a tablet in the Edge-wood Memorial Cemetery, and this is the first time her mother has forgotten his loss, the first time she has restored him to life in her mind. Carefully, Katherine says, “Mom, Dad passed on. Don’t you remember? He had a heart attack and died in the hospital.”
    Her mother’s mouth gives a sudden tic at the corner, and her eyes grow misty with tears. Katherine can see the realization washing through her: he has left her behind and she is all alone in the world.
    Katherine leans over her mother’s bed to embrace her, resting her arms against the stiff white sheets. “Oh, Mom,” she says. And then, against her cheek, she feels a sudden hard slap.
    She draws back, startled.
    Her mother’s hand is raised, her face braided with anger. “Don’t you ever talk about your father that way!” she says.
    The next day, at the library, Katherine finds herself hoping that Woodrow will reappear. She listens for the rasp of his old man’s voice, the fall of his shoes in the aisle, the clapping of books against a wooden table. She volunteers to shelve the titles in the returns cart, taking frequent walks around the library. When he doesn’t appear, she feels curiously disappointed.
    “Have you ever heard of strange objects falling from the sky?” she asks Katherine A.
    “What, like meteors?”
    “Meteors,” says Katherine, “or fish, or frogs, or blood.”
    Katherine A considers for a moment. “I was struck on the head once by a nut,” she says. “I was standing under a chestnut tree.”
    “No,” says Katherine. “You know what I mean.”
    “I heard this rumble while I was in bed last night. When I looked outside, water was falling from the sky.” Katherine A is clearly enjoying herself. “Nails and shingles fall from construction sites. Birds fall when they’re shot by bullets. The devil is supposed to be a fallen angel. Oh, and then there’s the Fall of Man—”
    “Never mind,” says Katherine.
    That afternoon, shortly before she is scheduled to go home, she receives a letter from the director of Library Services: It has come to my attention that you have been engaging in lewd discussions with minors visiting our facility. Contact my office ASAP so that we may discuss this matter further. It’s signed: Most sincerely, Dick Ridling, Director of Library Services.
    “Did you know about this?” she asks Katherine A.
    “Let me see.” She reads the letter and hands it back, giving a little puff of indifference. “News to me,” she says. “But I can’t say I’m bowled over by it.”
    “Great,” Katherine sighs. “Perfect.” She slips the letter into her purse, then stands and pulls her jacket from the back of her chair. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says.
    “Tomorrow,” says Katherine A.
    Though a mass of gray clouds is rolling in from the west, little bubbles of sunlight are still glinting from the hoods of the cars in the parking lot. Katherine is parked beneath a thick black walnut tree. When she steps around its buttress of roots, she finds another slip of paper on her windshield.