by Heidi Peaster

Created on: March 04, 2010

Excerpt from the novel "No Questions"  Foreword:  Max had been devastated when his wife, Brynn, was killed and he was left to raise their young son.  He had started seeing Carrie, a former prostitute, but had kept it quietly secret from everyone.  Now, Carrie has come to give him an ultimatum.

Dooley, Georgia  1935

He was nearly finished with his cigarette when he saw her just up the alley from where their house stood, standing under the street light.  How long she had been there, he couldn't say; he hadn't seen her come, she was just there.  He knew instantly who it was and he made no move or sound as she, realizing he had seen her, came walking toward him until she stood at the foot of the steps.  She looked up at him, one hand on the railing and said:

"Good evening, Sheriff."

Max sighed out the last of the smoke and ground out the cigarette into the railing beside him.  "What are you doing here?" he asked wearily.

Carrie came up the steps to  stand beside him.  Not too near; the stoop was so small, she couldn't get very far from him, but she leaned back against the railing opposite.  She wore no wrap nor hat, the night was very warm; and the dress that moved in the slight breeze was light and simply cut.

"You didn't even know that I knew where you lived, did you?" she asked.

"No, I didn't."

"I have my ways of finding out," she told him.  "I've been here before.  A couple of times.  I just come by at night and watch the house awhile.  Watch the light inside go off.  You stay up late, don't you?"

"So do you, out wandering the streets at this hour," he countered.

"Only sometimes."

"Yes, well sometimes I don't sleep too well," Max said.  An understatement.  Sometimes he didn't sleep at all.  Sometimes for days he would only doze.

"You always do when you're with me," Carrie pointed out.

"Yes, I always do then," he agreed and pulled her to him.  She fit into his arms exactly, comfortably;  he locked his arms about her and rested his chin on the top of her head.  "I guess you're over being mad at me then," he said.

"I never was mad at you," she replied.  "I was sad."

"I'm sorry."

She didn't answer.  It was so nice to hold her against him, feeling her breathing; even, when he put the palm of his hand against her back, feeling her heart beating.  He could feel her breath against the cloth of his shirt, warming it softly.

"Max," she said

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