Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. “I have been bearing this—for your sake. He could not permit her to remain in that position. ‘It were that there major, miss. She used to lock Jordan and Josiah in the closet when they were toddlers. A simple wooden monument was placed over the grave, but without any name or date. Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness.
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