Marion Faith Laird - No Place To Run

“So how many keys are you gonna want for the office?”

“One.”

“You should at least have two, so you’ll have a spare. What if you lost it?”

“I’d call you.”

Ike grinned. “The lock comes with two keys, anyway.”

“Okay. I guess I can live with that.”

“You know, if you really want security, you should get a different type of door. One without a window in it.” Ike tapped the gold-painted OFFICE with a tan index finger. “Good blow with a hammer on this plain glass and they’d be right in there.”

Lorie shrugged. “Technically it isn’t my door. I’ll have enough explaining to do to the county library board when they find out I authorized the changes.”

Ike set his toolbox down onto the pinewood floor with a resounding clang. “You need somebody to back you up, just give us a call. Tammy and I’ll speak up for you. Now, I’ll get the measurements on the window after I fix the door. Should have it in for you by the end of the day.”

“Thanks, Ike.”

She left him to the work, the whir of his battery-powered drill driver reminding her of the leaf blower that used to stalk her neighborhood in San Diego. That noisy monstrosity was one thing she hadn’t heard a lot of in Dainger County. She hoped that would never change.

The reminder of the place she used to call home turned her stomach to acid. Would she ever again be able to think of her dear city without raw memories of death’s aftermath?

Only God knew.

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