Free After Dakota by Kevin Sharp Page B

someone else doing so. In her entire life, Claire has paid for something at the pharmacy maybe twice.
    Yet they’ve never stolen from anywhere else, never even been tempted. It’s the old man’s fault for being so mean.
    At home later, Claire’s dad stands on the back porch, trying to light the barbecue. “Hi, Clarabelle, see some balloons today?”
    “Uh-huh. Where’s Mom?”
    “Search me.” He jumps back when the flame bursts.
    “I need to tell her what I want for Christmas.”
    “Already decided in October?”
    “It’s a coat.”
    “It is?” He takes pieces of chicken off a plate, coats both sides with Pam cooking spray, lays them on the grill. “We’re having chicken tonight. That ok with you?”
    “Sure.”
    “Because if there’s something you’d rather have…”
    “Chicken’s fine, Daddy.” She goes inside. A rainbow striped balloon floats out over the mountains.
    * * *
    The next morning, the Vanzants are back at church (“The Life God Blesses”) and Claire has a perfect view of them from the pew across the aisle. Mrs. Vanzant looks only at whatever she’s holding, first the hymn book, then the Bible. Mr. Vanzant sports a frown worthy of a cartoon character, so severe it looks like someone drew it on him.
    Claire used to look across this same aisle to where Dakota sat with her parents. Those days when the two girls’ eyes met were the best; Dakota would mouth the song words extra dramatically toward Claire, or draw on the program: smiley faces, Tic-Tac-Toe grids.
    Their own service going on under the surface of everyone else’s.
    Other days, Dakota’s eyes stayed closed, or aimed toward Pastor Mark and the choir. Claire could stare for the entire hour – shouting Look over here! inside her head – and never be acknowledged.
    Pastor Mark says from the front, “God blesses our life not because we deserve it, but because He is gracious and kind. As the New Testament puts it…”
    Hands keep reaching forward from the pew behind the Vanzants, grabbing their shoulders, squeezing, withdrawing. When Claire leaves for her leisurely bathroom stroll, she wants to invite them to come so they can get away from all the attention. Sometimes people just want to be left alone.

29
    Cameron sits across from his dad, Hal, at Red Lobster. “Get anything you want, son. This is a monumental occasion?” His dad’s voice goes up at the end of certain sentences, creating random questions throughout a conversation. He’s already informed both the hostess and the waitress of his boy’s eighteenth birthday. Cameron hopes this isn’t one of those places where everyone comes out and sings. He used to have his birthdays at Farrell’s ice cream parlor, where they rang a bell and made a big deal; that stopped being appealing long ago.
    The real celebration would come when Bryce hit eighteen in a few months.
    His dad butters a biscuit. “I heard about the gal next door. Deborah.”
    “Dakota,” Cameron snaps back.
    “Really too bad, she was a cutie.” He starts reminiscing about Dakota and Cameron’s younger years on the cul-de-sac, throwing out random moments – like the kids tying their sleds to the back of Mr. Ingalls’ pickup truck – as if to justify getting her name wrong.
    His dad’s scalp shines through his peninsula of hair. He wears glasses, too, the only other one on either side of the family besides Cameron. Thanks, Dad. As long as the hair stays, all is forgiven.
    The day the Iranian hostages were released in January, 1981, Cameron’s parents sat him down in the living room after school. The TV was on the whole time, pictures of President Reagan, men filing off an airplane, hugs, crying. This followed a period when his dad had been gone on several business trips, where he’d disappear for days with no warning and no explanation (to his son, at least).
    A thought hit Cameron there on the couch: What if these mysterious trips had something to do with the hostages? What if his dad…? That