Margot Dalton - New Way to Fly

“Can you imagine Bubba Gibson sitting in prison?” the neighbors were whispering to one another. “Bubba Gibson, locked away in some little ol’ jail cell, with nothing to look at but four walls?”

And Mary tried sometimes, but she just couldn’t. When she pictured her husband he was always outdoors somewhere, striding across the sun-warmed grass in big booted feet or riding out among his cattle herd, casting a fishing line into the river or standing on a hillside in the sunset with the autumn wind riffling his hair.

He deserves every single thing that’s happened to him, Mary thought defensively. He brought it all on himself, and now he’s paying, just like he should.

At least he recognized that, she reflected morosely. He’d refused J.T.’s offer to bail him out, saying he deserved his punishment and he’d take it like a man. Or so J.T. had told her later. But Martin had insisted on ensuring he’d gotten a speedy trial, with the eligibility of parole for good behaviour, especially in light of the fact he’d testified against that horrible man who actually made it his business to murder innocent animals.

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