Runner

Linda took the gun and assumed the stance. Jane stood beside her and watched to be sure she was doing it right. 'Any time you're ready.'

Linda fired. The gun jumped up and she winced, then leveled it.

'Again.'

She fired once more.

'Again.'

This time the handkerchief puffed backward as another hole appeared in the thin white linen. She aimed again.

'How many rounds are left?' Jane asked.

'Two.'

'Good. Fire again.'

The handkerchief jumped and fluttered downward toward the foot of the tree, but caught on a small branch jutting from the trunk. 'There's one left.'

'Then fire it.'

Linda fired. She was controlling the recoil better, not flinching at the sound, and she appeared to be holding the gun with more comfort and confidence. She lowered the gun and held it out to Jane, the barrel pointed away from them.

'Want some more practice?'

'Yes.'

'Then you load it this time.'

Jane held the box while Linda opened the cylinder, poured out the brass casings, pushed in another six rounds, and closed it. Jane said, 'Hold your fire. I'm going to walk to the tree and put my poor handkerchief up again.'

'Okay.'

While she went to the tree and returned, Jane watched the way Linda handled the gun. She was careful, she was alert, and she was getting more comfortable. Jane said, 'All right. Fire when you're ready.'

Linda fired the next six rounds, hitting the handkerchief each time.

Jane said, 'You seem to be getting the idea. Do you think you can do that if you have to?'

'I can fire the gun. I don't know about shooting a person.'

'That means we're done, I think. I don't have another handkerchief.' She scooped up the empty casings at their feet, counted them, and then retrieved the shredded handkerchief. 'This wasn't much of an introduction. I just wanted you to be able to load and fire in an emergency. People practice for a lifetime and still keep learning things. What I want you to do when we get back is go through your apartment with the lights on and again with the lights off, figuring out exactly what you would do in an emergency—where you would take a firing position, what you would be able to see from there, what you wouldn't be able to see. Where you would retreat from there. Everything you know and don't have to spend time deciding will help.'

As they walked back to the car, Jane suddenly bent down in a clearing, and began picking leaves from a vine with red berries on it that ran along the ground.

'What are you doing?'

'This is partridgeberry. I didn't know it grew this far west. But of course it would.'

'But what are you going to do with it?'

'The berries are full of seeds, and they don't taste like much. But you boil the leaves in a little water and make a tea out of it. It's a cure for morning sickness. The old people say it even helps make childbirth easier later on.'

'Are you sure it's safe?'

'If you're worried, I'll drink it first. You can watch me for a day and then try it.' Jane picked a pound or more of the leaves, then put them in the trunk of the car. 'You'll thank me for this.'

They drove back to the city. On the way they stopped at a grocery store and replenished the supply of staples and picked up lots of extra food that Linda particularly liked. Jane used a plastic bag from the store to hold the partridgeberry leaves, then loaded the car trunk with groceries. While they were driving back toward the apartment, Linda said, 'You're getting ready to leave, aren't you?'

'Yes.'

'When?'

'When everything I can do here is done.'

The next morning Linda had her first dose of partridgeberry tea, and her last day of morning sickness. Over the next few days they filled the cupboards with canned and preserved food. They went to bookstores and bought pregnancy and child-care books, magazines and novels. The health insurance card in the name Linda Welles arrived, and they went to the doctor for Linda's next checkup.

One morning, when Linda woke, Jane was sitting in the living room with her suitcase packed. 'It's today?'

'I think it's time,' Jane said. 'You're Linda Welles now. Your identity has held up, and you've been out of sight for a couple of weeks. You're in a safe place with just about everything you'll need, and you've got a car with Minnesota plates. Your neighbors are used to you already. It's up to you now.'

'I'm scared to do this without you.'

'Don't be. All you have to do is live quietly, take care of yourself, and let the time go by. Do exactly what your doctor says. And don't worry. I'll be back near the end of the summer to help you get everything ready for the baby.'

Linda looked relieved. She put her arms around Jane and hugged her, holding on for a few seconds before she let go. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. 'Thank you, Jane. I'll see you then.'

Jane went out, and looked carefully at everything she could see, trying to sense anything that might be out of order. She got into the rental car, then drove around the apartment complex once before she went up the long drive to the main street and turned right to find the entrance to the long highway.

10

Richard Beale had lived in San Diego all his life, but he didn't like the Pacific Ocean. His father had been wasting money on boats since before Richard was born, and this was just the latest boat, maybe the fifth one named after his mother. This one was fifty-eight feet long, all gleaming white hull and deck. The steps and rails and benches and roofs were all outlandish molded fiberglass in soft streamlined shapes, so it looked as though they had melted in the sun and begun to smear. The sun was another thing. Where the hell was the June gloom—the cloud cover that was supposed to make this time of the year dark? The sunlight this morning was the cruel, sharp kind that usually came during full summer. It seemed to always be at the worst angle for the whole day, so no matter where you looked it was in your eyes or bouncing back into them from something like the glass and steel on this big white boat. Even the surface chop of the ocean was full of mirror surfaces that popped up and were swallowed again in their millions, throwing a dancing glare into his eyes.

The monotonous thrum of the two enormous engines below the deck made him feel tired and irritated, and the repeated rise and fall of the boat on the long Pacific swells brought back dozens of episodes of motion sickness. Each time was exacerbated by his expert nonseaman's knowledge of every aspect of seasickness—exactly how bad it was so far, how long it would take to get worse under these specific conditions, at what point he would begin to fear the nausea would lead to vomiting, and how long after that he would accept his fate, surrender to it, and finally welcome it. He stood near the stern and stared back at the harbor.

'Richie.'

Ruby Beale's voice was still high and a little screechy when she was straining it, but it had a gravelly unevenness that a lot of old smokers got. Richard turned and looked up the steps toward the flying bridge. That was what they called it: flying. When the ocean was choppy it felt up there as though the boat were trying to fling everyone off it. She was holding on to both railings at the top, her cigarette hanging at the corner of her lip. She was wearing a brightly flowered orange one-piece bathing suit with a voluminous pair of shorts over it, leaving the flabby white flesh of her arms and calves a feast for the sun.

'What, Ma?'