Free Cold River by Liz Adair

too. Bye.” Mandy heard the click as her sister rang off, but she sat for a moment, still holding the receiver. When an ugly beep beep beep sounded in her ear, she hung up. She shrugged then picked up her underwear and towel and padded into the bathroom.
    She felt better after a hot shower. Dressing quickly, she went downstairs to fix breakfast. She boiled oatmeal in the saucepan she had sent in one of the parcels and ate it out of the pot with the stirring spoon. She sat on a folding chair that Fran had loaned her, using two empty boxes stacked atop one another for a table. Both counter and cardboard table were graced by buckets of daffodils.
    As she ate, Mandy stared at the river flowing in the distance and reflected on the staff meeting the day before. There had been resistance to her suggestion that Mrs. Berman handle all calendars and that issues important to the district be tracked by email for documentation. It irked Mandy that everyone looked to Grange for permission. It wasn’t until he said in a noncommittal voice that they could give it a try that everyone had agreed. Next, by her invitation, each reluctantly and sketchily described his or her responsibility in the district. Mandy closed the meeting, saying she had noticed that, though math scores were strong, reading was woefully deficient. She announced that at their next staff meeting, set for the following week, they would be strategizing on ways to remedy this, and she asked Mrs. Berman to make sure that meeting was on everyone’s calendar.
    As Mandy scraped the last of the oatmeal out of the bottom of the pot, she realized that, save for the short recital each staff member had made about areas of responsibility, she was the only one who spoke during the meeting. She sighed, remembering Albuquerque’s district staff meetings full of give and take, overflowing with ideas and enthusiasm.
    She set the pot to soak in the sink and ran upstairs to get her jacket and purse. Then she locked the door behind her and drove through the morning mist back up to where Wesley Gallant’s metal-clad carving studio sat behind his house. This was her morning to visit the school board.
     

MANDY COULD HEAR proof of Wesley’s industry the moment she got out of the car, but instead of the throaty roar of a chain saw, a high-pitched whine scraped the air.
    The large metal building had two garage-style rollup doors on the long side, but it was to a smaller door on the end that Mandy headed. She knocked twice, and when no one answered, she turned the knob and pushed the door open. Immediately, the whine became louder, and Mandy could see why there was no response.
    A tall, lean man with safety glasses and ear protectors worked intently with a small rotary tool that sent clouds of powder into the air, making a rusty, aromatic fog inside the building. Under his skillful hands, the scene Mandy had seen the previous morning emerged, captured in cedar. An eagle, wings stretched up, legs extended, held a writhing fish in its talons.
    As she stepped through the door, a suspended particle lodged in Mandy’s eye, and she paused for a moment, staring at the ground and blinking furiously to try to float it out on tears. Clenching her hands to keep from rubbing the eye, she finally was able to see without discomfort. That was about the time she realized the whining of the air tool had stopped, and she looked up to meet the stern gaze of Wesley Gallant.
    He took off his earmuffs and safety glasses. “Dr. Steenburg, I presume?”
    Mandy smiled and extended her right hand as she rubbed tears away with the back of her left. “Yes. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me.”
    After setting down his tool, Wesley took her hand briefly, but he did not return the smile. Instead, he strode to the corner and turned off the compressor. “For what it’s worth,” he called over his shoulder.
    Wesley must have been six foot six. Dressed in Levi’s and a brown flannel shirt, he looked to be about