Twenty-five: For All Intents and Purposes
The rain had stopped, but the wind still shook the trees around Wooster-Boalt. Keltie and Marty met it full force on the front step. Their hair whipped to and fro. Yet rather than raise an arm to block the assault, Keltie breathed it in, and let it twirl Mrs. Haschak’s red ribbon. Marty had no choice in the matter; he was carrying a box in both hands. Keeping to the shadows, they walked round the side of the house. Here lay a yard of wet grass, the pungent odor of which struck Keltie almost as hard as the wind. Marty put the box down. “Here,” he said, opening his hand to her. Keltie passed him the shovel she’d been carrying. Then he began to dig. Schuck! Schuck! Over and over, the shovel struck dirt, kicking up more dampened scents. Marty tossed each load over his shoulder wi
- Writer
