Free Broken Things (Faded Photograph Series) by Andrea Boeshaar

ex-wife.”
    “Roxi?”Allie ran the name through her memory and came up blank. “Did we know her? Did she go to the same high school?”
    “I didn’t know her. I don’t think she was from around here. Someone told me she was a floozy and that Jack met her when the cops raided a tavern that used to be on the edge of town.”
    “Lovely.” Allie sent a glance upward before gratefully accepting the cup of tea Mrs. Strobel had poured.
    “Now, girls,’ the older woman said as if Allie and Colleen were teenagers instead of pushing fifty, “he must have seen some redeeming quality in his ex-wife. Jack was an upstanding man…still is, in my book. Who doesn’t make mistakes?”
    Colleen simply shrugged and held her teacup to her lips with both hands.
    However, Allie felt properly chastened. “You’re right, Mrs. Strobel.” You’re absolutely right. Who doesn’t make mistakes?”
    * * *
    The pain had once more become unbearable.
    “Help me! Help me!” Cynthia Matlock hoped someone would hear her. It seemed as though she’d been calling out for hours. But no one came. “Help! Help me!”
    At last the door of her room opened and a male attendant walked in. He stood at least six feet in height with broad shoulders and a straight back. His eyes were a lively bluish-green and Cynthia guessed his hair would be a nice shade of light brown if he hadn’t shaved his head completely bald. “What are you hollering about?”
    Wasn’t there a compassionate heart anywhere in this place? Well, that would be her daughters’ doing. They had made sure she wound up in the worst place possible, and Cynthia figured they would be pleased to know her dying days were filled with pain and suffering.
    “What do you want?”
    “Some pain medication,” Cynthia rasped. “And water. I need water.”
    “No water. You’ve been told that before.”
    The man turned to go.
    “Wait! Help me! Help me!”
    Ignoring her pleas, he left.
    At that moment, Cynthia hated the whole world and everyone in it. She couldn’t wait to die. She stared at the clock on the wall in front of her and watched the big hand tick off the minutes.
    The attendant returned and, to her surprise and relief, he held a syringe in one of his gloved hands. Good. He’d brought the pain medication. However, he inserted the needle into her flesh with such force that Cynthia screamed, feeling the tube in back of her throat reverberate.
    “Shut up, old lady.”
    With that, the nurse departed, leaving Cynthia in tears and her arm aching from the assault She’d heard somewhere that before people die, their lives flash before their eyes. Cynthia’s life wasn’t exactly “flashing,” but segments played over in her head like reruns on TV―reruns she was unable to turn off with a switch.
    In her mind’s eye, she envisioned the small town in Iowa in which she’d grown up. Dad’s corn fields spread out before her. Tall, green stalks reached skyward. She could almost smell the rich soil from which they’d sprung. Her parents were farmers and had great aspirations for her, their eldest daughter. According to their plans, Cynthia would be the first in their family to attend college. But she had her own ideas. She wanted excitement. Adventure. College could wait.
    Then one night, she ran off with Tom Addison, the local “troublemaker,” according to the church-going folks in town. Back in 1965Tom was dodging the draft, saying there was no way he’d go to Nam. To Cynthia’s fifteen-year-old way of thinking, defying the United States Government sounded like a grand escapade, so she decided to dodge the draft with him.
    But they’d gotten caught at the Canadian border, and Cynthia was sent back home. Alas, the ordeal caused quite a stir in town and brought shame to her parents―a fact they never let her forget for years to come.
    Finally, at age nineteen, Cynthia left home for good. Not for college, but for the bright lights and excitement of Chicago. She changed her name