Page 82 of Revival

Oh my god.

He’s here.

What is he doing here?

“Something like that.” Spencer’s gravelly voice scrapes over his short reply. The truth of his words burrows like a thorn in my chest, deep enough that even a good inhale can’t displace it.

The man whistles. “That’s a long time. Twenty years, yeah? About as long as a prison sentence.”

“Yep.”

The simple response sets off a chain reaction beneath my skin. Bumps erupt along my bare arms, a direct contradiction to the midday sun beating down. My scrub top sticks to my back where a bead of sweat rolls steadily down my spine. I freeze in place. The task in front of me is nearly forgotten as my ears perk up to the voices behind me. One in particular sets a storm rolling in my stomach.

“I heard about the accident.”

“Considering what you do for a living, I’m not surprised. Heard you’re about to retire.”

The little information in Spencer’s retort clears up any confusion I had about who stopped him on the sidewalk for a chat and explains the thread of displeasure in his tone.

Sheriff Jim Perry and Spencer have a history. One the rest of us never really understood. There was always some animosity there that the Sheriff didn’t have for the rest of us Powell and Stone kids. Sheriff Perry was always looking for Spencer rather than looking out for him. If there was trouble, Spencer could almost always guarantee a knock on his door asking if he’d been involved.

Eight times out of ten, he could truthfully deny the allegations.

The other two…

He might have been the star quarterback our senior year, but he got into just enough mischief to make a name for himself. For whatever reason, that made him a target.

And Sheriff Perry had a history of being a bully.

My musings drift off as their conversation resumes.

“You know how it is around here,” Jim says.

“Yeah.” Spencer’s voice takes on a hard edge.

“All things considered, you look all right.”

Spencer swears, and my stomach clenches.

“I just mean the scars are hardly noticeable.” Jim goes on.

“What’s got that frown on your face, honey?” A voice roughened from years of smoking saves me from the conversation at my back.

My chin rises from my chest, revealing how tightly I was squeezing my shoulders to my ears. The festival on Main Street resumes around me as if I didn’t just spend the last however many minutes eavesdropping.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” I laugh with a wave of my hand, forcing my muscles to relax. “How can I help you, Dora?”

She raises her arm. I swiftly move to help her settle the pet carrier on the table beneath the white canopy.

“I heard you’d be down here for the day. My Mr. Fluffskateer needs his vaccines and a nail trim.”

Inwardly, I groan. Dora’s cat is old and as ornery as they come. I’m pretty sure his least favorite thing in the world is a visit to my office for his annual visit.

“Did you give him his medicine to sedate him?” I peer into the carrier. The ginger cat releases a mighty growl.

“Well, I tried, but I think he might have spit it out. You know how bad my eyesight is.”

“I understand.” I smile. “I’ll see what he’ll put up with today.”

---