Potter's Field

By Nancy L. Davis

/ Second Place, 2025 Plentitudes Prize in Fiction /      

Perspiration blanketed Lena’s face as she carried two fat zucchinis just harvested to the outside spigot to wash and later cut up, stir in the pan with dill and spitting hot canola oil, a side dish for tonight’s broiled hamburgers. She still had to feed the chickens, turn over the compost, and rush to meet Cassidy, her daughter, where the school bus picked her up and dropped her off each weekday at the end of their drive. Lena hated that Cass, as she called her, had to take the half-hour journey twice a day five days a week, that Lena could not pick her up like some other mothers did. Her hours at Frito Lay precluded that. As soon as she’d walk Cass to the bus stop, she was off to the factory, 8 AM to 3PM. Thank goodness the packing plant was just a fifteen-minute drive.

The Berkshire region enjoyed a good growing season this year, plenty of rain and sunshine, yielding far more than they could consume. Lena shared her surplus with neighbors or exchanged it for something of theirs—apples from their orchards, cherries from their trees. Sometimes, she gave the vegetables to Cassidy to take to school. Cass’s teacher, Miss Summers, was wonderful about leaving them on a table at the back of the room and inviting the children to take what their families might want. If anything was left, Miss Summers would take it home to use. Hadley Township in western Massachusetts was not a wealthy one. Old tobacco farms had ruined much of the land, not that New England had ever boasted rich soil. And since most folks were employed by Frito Lay or Lake’s Lumber, when the economy stumbled, layoffs rose, and people suffered. Homegrown food, and the subsequent canning for winter months, was essential.

Lena had just started the walk down their drive when she heard the bus rumbling along Route 50, its brakes squeaking as it rolled to a stop. She reached the mailbox in time to watch her daughter, ten and in the third grade, file past the few remaining kids on board and hop down the steps to meet her. Lena waved to Wendy, the bus driver, and took her daughter’s hand, anxious to hear about the day. Cassidy smelled of crayon and Elmer’s glue, having just had art class. She was gifted, like her dad, Lena’s soon-to-be-ex. Kevin was a potter, well known in the wealthier parts of the state, Boston, the Cape, Worcester. He made a living in juried traveling art shows across the country. On occasion, a gallery picked up his work. His hopes were on a greater online presence. Lena had always admired and respected his passion and dedication, but between the two of them, they could eke out a combined income barely above 60K, and that was a good year. It was 2018, and inflation routinely outpaced salaries. Thank goodness Lena’s job carried health and life insurance, vacation, sick leave.

Lena sighed, inhaling deeply, as she considered the appointment she had set up with the mediator next week. Together, but at her insistence, she and Kevin decided to go that route rather than a divorce attorney. Less chance for acrimony, she hoped; less costly, Kevin had added.

Kevin’s ceramic work was intricate; he was always experimenting with new techniques, infusing copper wire or tin foil, a variety of materials that created a deeper three-dimensionality. Typically, his work was smaller scale, which helped with art fair sales unless the prices he had to set for the labor involved dissuaded even the most enthusiastic admirer. There were the road expenses as well, gas and wear on the van, motels, unless he knew someone willing to put him up. Often, he slept in his van, which always worried Lena. There were the materials, of course, his wheel and kiln, a studio out back he had to heat and cool. Kevin was resourceful, however, and had set up solar panels long before they were more common.

Lena admired all those qualities in Kevin, still did. Sometimes, she wondered what he saw in her—a day laborer, creative in the homestead, for sure, with her green thumb and canning, cooking skills, her knack for decorating on a modest budget. She and a roommate years ago had developed the idea of “shabby chic” before it caught on. They put second-hand store finds to good use sewing drapery and bedspreads out of old quilts, building picture frames, caning seats on Shaker chairs, stripping oak and maple tables, using antique Bell canning jars for everything from decorative pasta storage to outdoor lights.

They modeled the perfect family, notwithstanding their financial struggles. A few years ago, after Kevin lost his father in a motorcycle accident, he had taken to frequenting casinos. First it was to see stand-up comic or musical acts. Kevin was an amateur guitarist, and Lena had a lovely voice, for the angels, Kevin always bragged, with looks to match. At one time, they considered starting a duo, first animating local coffee shops, next hitting taverns with small stages, maybe one day setting up a traveling circuit. Lena had gone with Kevin to casino acts on several occasions, sometimes double dating with friends. Soon Kevin’s solo visits multiplied, blurring into gambling expeditions, often when he was on the road. He started gambling the money he’d earn at a show, losing more than winning, a gambler’s death dirge.

“Hi Pumpkin!” Lena called as she took her daughter’s hand. Lena had a different nickname for Cassidy depending on the season. Winter was “Snowflake,” Spring “Tulie,” Summer “Love Bug.” Somehow, they all stuck.

Make anything fun in Mrs. Miller’s class?” she asked.

“A collage!” Cassidy said. “Can’t wait to show you.”

Once inside the mud room, Cassidy slipped off the straps of her backpack, letting it slide down her back. She kicked off her light up Skechers, hung her jacket on a peg, and raced into the kitchen where Ollie, their chocolate lab, howled and jumped in his crate, eager to greet her. She unlatched the gate, and out he bounded, sniffing up and down her legs for scents, licking her hand with his long, soft tongue. Cassidy giggled.

“Ok, you two!” Lena called, smiling. “Snack time.”

Cassidy washed her hands in the bathroom sink, returned to pull out three treats from the GOOD POOCH jar Kevin had made, and commanded Ollie first to sit, next to shake hands, and finally, to roll over. He gobbled the treats as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

Ollie was not only a purebred but born of a long lineage of national dog show winners. He’d appeared one morning outside their back door, three years ago, emaciated and shivering. They took him to a local veterinarian, who located and processed his chip. When contacted, the owners cried with relief, but said they’d had to move to a condo, for medical reasons—no more stairs—and the HOA did not allow dogs over a certain weight. They had planned to gift him to their close friends who had raised several Labs, but when they heard firsthand from the vet how Ollie had taken to Kevin, Lena, and Cassidy, they had a change of heart and felt that more disruption would be too much for Ollie. They made the difficult decision not to see him, or the shock also might be too much for him. They lived thirty miles away. Ollie had run away when the moving van showed up at their home. They had searched for weeks, pasted up posters, distributed leaflets to local stores, posted online, but to no avail. In the end, they gave the new family Ollie’s papers and health records. Kevin sent them photos of his new home and family once Ollie had recovered. To say Ollie had become a fulsome member of their family was an understatement.

While Lena brought out carrots and Ranch, a glass of lemonade, and two graham crackers, Cassidy went back to the mud room, Ollie tagging behind, where she carefully pulled out the collage from the portfolio in her backpack. Ollie sniffed the paper and followed her back to the kitchen, scooting under the table as Cassidy carefully laid out the artwork. Lena walked over, eager to see her daughter’s creation.

She hummed approvingly as she studied precise shapes, varied textures, and stunning colors Cassidy had combined. “You really do have your father’s talents,” Lena said as she ran her fingers across the burgundy yarn, yellow threads, abalone buttons, and strips of fabric Lena recognized from old curtains she had cut up and used to patch Cassidy’s jeans, the way Cass liked them. Lena kept cartons of discarded craft items for reuse.

“It’s a stunning still life, Cass,” she exclaimed as she examined Cassidy’s hand-drawn shapes: an eggplant, two bananas, a small cluster of green grapes positioned on a pale blue platter, silver and gold swirls bleeding the blue, Kevin’s signature style.

Cassidy so belonged to them both, Lena thought with agony, pressing her eyes shut as she tortured herself with the grim new reality of their lives. There was a time when their lives had been full and loving. They hadn’t wanted for much, despite their recurring financial struggles. They were resourceful, Lena had always reasoned, and knew how to make ends meet. But now, with Kevin’s gambling habits and secrecy, that pact was broken. Her daughter intuited that her own private world had changed, but she could never be expected to fathom just how much it would be altered.

Lena had given Kevin many chances, suggested therapy, which he flatly refused. They had been the loves of each other’s lives, met at an outdoor spring festival in Sunderland, on the Connecticut River. What Lena had not known when they married, however, was that addiction ran fast in Kevin’s family, on his mother’s side. His grandfather had died penniless, an itinerant gambler, and his mother was a recovered alcoholic, though sober for years. Kevin never mentioned his mother’s past until she broke her ankle in three places and was prescribed opioids for pain. He monitored her intake like a drug counselor, confessing to Lena his fear she’d abuse them, as she had alcohol. He spoke fondly of his grandfather’s spunk and love of travel, but rarely of his addiction, waving it off as social activity.

Lena stroked Cassidy’s hair, shaking her head in amazement at her daughter’s work, complimenting her in myriad ways. “This is so original,” she cooed. “What did Mrs. Miller think?”

“She told me I had real talent.”

Lena smiled. “Shall we get our homework done before dinner, take Ollie out, watch your favorite show? Look at the two beauties I picked today!” she exclaimed, holding the two deep green and glossy zucchinis she had carried in from the garden.

“Yum!” Cassidy cried, licking her lips. “Dill and zukes!”

* * *

Lena set up the mediation meeting on the night Cassidy had Brownies a mile away at her friend Molly’s house. Lena invited Kevin for dinner beforehand. It made sense to her to break the ice, ease what would likely become a contentious meeting, even though they had taken the more passive route.

Lena cooked Beef Bourgogne, a favorite, buying the cheaper grade of steak, but not sparing on the red wine and mushrooms Kevin loved. She made her best Caesar, anchovies and all, baking the croutons from scratch, grating the chunk of Romano she’d purchased last weekend at the Food Co-Op. Garden tomatoes had not yet gone mealy, so she cut up and added those at the end so as not to sodden the Romaine. Garlic bread would top off the meal, followed by homemade chocolate chip cookies with walnuts.

She tried not to think of the homecooked meal as a bribe. But what if it were? She had to look out for herself and their daughter. Left to Kevin, who knows where they’d end up? She slid out the hot tray of cookies, chocolate chips melted into the soft baked batter, and admitted to herself that she not only still loved cooking for her family, but she also loved Kevin, and likely would for a long time. She rubbed tears into her cheeks, hiccupped a few times from sudden sobs, splashed cold water on her face to snap out of it. Though she knew the daily tension between them and eventual breakdown of mutual trust was largely due to Kevin’s destructive habits, the nagging question begged: had her own behavior in some way contributed? Doesn’t it always take two? Yet her therapist—someone she could afford only once monthly and who accepted sliding scale payment—had assured her that no, even on her worst days, she had held up her side of the bargain and then some. Still, she had no doubts that Kevin loved them both, his wife and daughter, more than anything in his life. Ollie, too.

Ollie’s whimpers startled her out of her reverie, and she knew Kevin had arrived, early. He tapped lightly on the front door, singing his favorite tune, “Up on Cripple Creek she sends me /If I spring a leak /She mends me. /A drunkard’s dream if I ever did see one.” The lyrics stung in a way they hadn’t before.

Cassidy sprang from the table, pushing her plate of nearly finished burger and sauteed zucchini away from the edge.

“Daddy!” she cried, running to catch up with Ollie, who had raced to greet Kevin. Lena heard Cassidy open the door, and the familiar ensuing chaos gave Lena a lump in her throat. She cleared Cassidy’s plate and reset the table for two, hastily plopping autumn wildflowers into a cut-glass vase. She felt lightheaded as she witnessed the commotion of dog, child, and husband tumbling into the kitchen.

Lena nearly gasped at the sight of Kevin, his rugged Scandinavian good looks, gray-infused blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, sideburns framing high cheekbones and chiseled chin, warm smile sending Lena to another world and back.

“What’s for dinner, mother?” Kevin quipped with a wink. Lena rolled her eyes. He knew how much Lena hated it when he called her that.

“I’m not your mother,” she responded, with a habitual smile of exasperation.

“Can I skip Brownies, mommy, pleaseeee?” Cassidy begged, pulling on Lena’s apron.

Lena glanced at Kevin, who gestured “Sorry” because he had blown their plan that he would arrive after Cassidy left for Brownies so as not to upset her or get her hopes up that her parents were reconciling. Lena knew he’d arrived early on purpose, and felt she had a right to be angry, but who was she to deny him the little time he had with his daughter these days?

“You know our rules, Cass, sweetheart,” he offered, but looking at Lena. “You commit to something; you stick with something.”

“Seriously, Kevin?” Lena said, ready to throw the dish towel at him.

The doorbell rang just in time. Once again, dog and child raced to the door, creating a different sort of chaos.

Kevin called out, “I love you, Cassidy! Have a perfectly awesome time.”

“Love you more!” Cassidy yelled from the hallway.

Lena walked to the front door with Cassidy to greet Sara, heartened by how swiftly children could recalibrate.

“Hi Sara!” Cassidy said, after opening the door.

 Hi Cass! Sara answered.

Cassidy hugged her mother, then slipped out the door.

Lena watched as Cassidy took ahold of Sara’s hand. Their Brownies vests each sported multi-colored achievement badges and gold pins. Cassidy had swung her jacket over her shoulder, an explicitly Kevin gesture. Cassidy loved her Brownies vest, loved showing it off. She glanced at the house before getting into the back seat of the Toyota Corolla, then blew her mother a kiss, closed the door, and buckled herself in.

“Love you, sweetie,” Lena called. “Have a fun meeting.” And to Sara’s mother, Hannah, she mouthed, “I’ve got this next time.”

Lena returned to the kitchen to see Kevin dishing out the Beef Bourgogne. She tossed the salad one more time, shook and added the dressing, sprinkled on the croutons, and brought the bowl to the table, dishing out equal amounts on Fiesta ware turquoise salad plates.

They sat across from each other, quiet in their thoughts, the silverware clinking as they scooped up potatoes, carrots, mushrooms, beef bites marinated in the savory sauce.

“You’ve done it again,” Kevin said, nodding in Lena’s direction, all serious, no hint of a smile. “Best cook in the Berkshires, I always claimed.”

“Thank you,” Lena responded, not at all confident tonight’s meeting would go well. “What is your fall lineup looking like?” she said to change the subject.

“The Midwest tour begins the week after Halloween, pre-Holiday circuit. It’s nice this time around, no gymnasiums or church basements, just campus art galleries and student center halls. I’ll feel like an actual artist, not some traveling salesman.”  He cleared his throat, as if fighting the pity creeping into his voice.

“You’re in the top ranks, Kevin, have been for some time. Don’t denigrate yourself.” Lena felt suddenly self-conscious and tucked a strand of hair behind one ear.

“I’ll be staying in the van camper, Lena. No extras this time around. Not with these upcoming fees and such. Plus, my apartment isn’t anything to write home about, but it does cost me.” He sat back in his chair, arms resting on the table, as if bracing himself.

“I know, we’ll figure all of that out in these meetings. No one’s out to get you, Kevin. Don’t think this isn’t killing me.”

He reached his hand across the table, and she met him there.

“I’ve screwed up again, Lena. Down to the wire. Just like the Grandad. They’ll be after me soon if I don’t get some sales. I’ll move out of my place if need be. Live out of the van for a time, go somewhere warm during winter months. I won’t fight you; I know the wreck I’ve created. Just let me work my way out of this, I’ll make it right. Got plenty of unsold pieces worthy of the shows. Won’t matter if I don’t have access to my studio for a while and can’t throw some new pots.”

“Except that keeps you sane,” Lena added, cringing at the word.

They finished the meal in silence.

Kevin started clearing up. Lena stared out the back window, the sun already down, and felt the weight of autumn’s pull into darkness. How tired she was, how utterly worn. The doorbell rang, again, and she used all her strength to pull herself up from the table to answer it.

* * *

The meeting went surprisingly well, no bickering or nasty side glances, though Kevin had never been a spiteful person. Lena felt confident they had made the right choice with Dan Glovington, the attorney/mediator. Lena would retain the house, but if, and when, she sold it, she and Kevin would split the equity. Kevin would provide modest monthly child support and pay the real estate taxes, as well as help fifty-fifty with home repairs and any necessary improvements.

They each had their own vehicles, and Lena’s health insurance policy would continue to cover Cassidy, as it always had. She would cover Kevin’s insurance until year’s end when the divorce likely would be finalized. After that, he was on his own, though she was sick with worry about it. While she trusted Kevin to make good on his end, she did not trust him to look after his own best interests.

For a time, Kevin had teased the idea of taking Ollie to live with him, though he quickly admitted he would never take Ollie away from his second forever home, not to mention Cassidy, Ollie’s human sibling.

The only remaining sticking point was his studio in the back yard.

As much as Lena would miss the fact of Kevin out back working in his studio, the wood burning smell of the kiln, the scraping sound of the potter’s wheel, she also knew having him on the property was a bad idea. The mediator mentioned moving the studio, physically, to another location. Kevin balked at the idea but said he would talk to some people he knew. Of course, the bigger question was to where would he move it? Kevin’s small one-bedroom apartment had an enclosed sunporch, but it was no place for a kiln and wheel. They had tabled this discussion until the second and hopefully final session before the papers were drawn.

* * *

Lena woke with the odd sensation that someone had been in the house. She grabbed her robe and walked downstairs to find Cassidy finishing a cup of hot chocolate, slurping the last miniature marshmallows into her mouth.

“Cass!” Lena called. “Up so early? You made the cocoa yourself?”

“Morning, Mommy.”

“Ollie out already?” Lena asked, listening for the familiar sound of paws on wood floors and the clicking of collar tags.

“Daddy took him,” Cassidy said, matter of fact. “Said he was going for a run and wanted Ollie to join.”

Cassidy stared into her cup, as if she knew this news would not be well received.

“Daddy was here, this morning?” Lena asked, incredulously.

“This is still his home, isn’t it, Mommy?”

Lena caught herself, silently counted to three. “Of course, it is. I just wasn’t expecting him is all.”

“Why can’t things go back to the way they were?” Cassidy asked and burst into tears as she ran up the stairs to her room. This was only her second breakdown, but Lena knew the worst was yet to come.

Lena stood bewildered. She shook herself alert and began mechanically taking out a yogurt, muffin, and orange from the fridge for Cassidy’s breakfast. She picked up the piggy bank and turned it upside down, popped out the plug, and waited for the coins to fall out. This is where she kept petty cash for things like Brownies’ dues, Cassidy’s hot lunch, miscellaneous expenses. Kevin’s creation, of course. Blue and exaggerated in form, the pig held a permanent smile. Nothing tumbled out. Her fingers felt inside for the familiar coins and small bills, but a smooth ceramic surface revealed nothing. She shook the jar several times. Nothing.

“What the hell?”

Lena would have to bring her lunch today, she resolved, even though Lena had promised her pizza day. She was relieved she had enough sandwich meat and bread, mustard, pickles, and a single apple to pack. In a small baggie, she placed two chocolate chip cookies and a note with a smiley face and heart she drew with pink marker. These she placed in Cassidy’s Disney Frozen lunchbox. She dug into her wallet for milk change, exhaling when she had scavenged enough.

Cassidy’s composure when she returned downstairs washed and dressed for school broke Lena’s heart. Her daughter should not have to behave like an adult at this age, Lena troubled. After a silent breakfast, Lena and Cass made the familiar walk to the driveway’s end, Ollie a notable absence.

“I’m sorry you can’t do pizza day, Cass. Next time,” Lena said, cradling Cassidy’s shoulder as they walked.

“It’s all right, Mommy. Your pizza is much better.”

When they reached the road, Lena hugged her daughter tightly, not wanting to let go.

“We’ll figure this out,” she whispered in Cassidy’s ear, kissing her on the cheek as the bus pulled up.

 Once the bus was out of sight, Lena raced back to the kitchen to check her bank funds, her stomach in knots from the dread and emptiness she felt.

“Damn it!” she yelled. Kevin had withdrawn two-hundred dollars. “Why did I put off closing that account? And what gives him the right to come into my house, sight unseen?” The new account balance read $354.19.

She had to shower and dress quickly, or she’d be late for work. Maybe she could take a longer lunch break, ask this one small favor of her boss, get to the bank in time to stop the damage. She also had to speak with Glovington.

* * *

“We’ll get the funds returned,” Glovington had said on the phone later that day.

“But how?” Lena demanded. “He has no money.”

 “He can sell things. His kiln, his wheel.”

 “No. I can’t ask that. It would kill him.”

* * *

Her supervisor knew some of her story and gave her the last two hours off work, during which she’d been able to transfer the money from the joint account to a new one in her name only. Kevin would have to go in person to sign out of the account.

On her way home from the bank, it hit her why Kevin had taken Ollie.

“He wouldn’t,” she said aloud and gasped. "He wouldn't sell Ollie."

A half hour later, greeting Cassidy at the bus, Lena handed her a snack of carrots and Ranch, a juice box, and cookie for the car ride, explaining they had to meet Daddy at his apartment. Ollie would need his meal, she explained, he was unfamiliar with the apartment, and he’d be confused. He’d want to come home.

They drove the fifteen miles into town, Lena fuming inside, worried sick they would not find Ollie.

When she pulled up the narrow drive to the back of the main house, she saw that Kevin’s van was gone. She calmed herself as she parked her own car, jumped out, and opened the back door to help Cassidy hop down. Together they walked up the narrow side stairs to the entrance. She had been here only once when Kevin first moved in. There was no doorbell or knocker, so she tapped on the storm door, then again, louder. At this point, the sun was setting. She knocked one more time. Nothing. She pulled out a pen and small notebook from her purse and scribbled a note. After wedging it between the door and ill-fitting metal frame, she directed Cassidy back down the stairs.

“Where is Ollie, mommy?” Cassidy asked, thumb in her mouth, something she hadn’t done in years. “And where is daddy?”

“They can’t be far, honey, maybe daddy is doing errands and took Ollie with. You know how much Ollie loves car rides.”

They pulled out of the drive and turned to head home. Dusk had fallen, the worst time to drive these rural roads, sightlines vanishing in a thick haze. Lena felt cold and empty, panicked, but she braced herself. “He wouldn’t do anything foolish,” she murmured to herself. “He wouldn’t.”

About halfway home, a few miles down Route 12 before turning back onto 50, Cassidy called, “Mommy! There’s something on the side of the road. It . . . doesn’t look normal.”

Lena obeyed, slowed the car, and braked, carefully pulling over to the side. This was the country, after all, and it was darker at night than in any town or city, animals risking the roads that crisscrossed woods and fields.

Lena activated the hazard lights. She kept an emergency flashlight in the middle compartment and reached for it. “You stay here,” she instructed Cass, locked the doors, and got out, walking to the shoulder.

At first, she saw nothing, though she thought she heard barely perceptible breathing, then a soft whimper, and another. “You poor thing, whoever you are,” she whispered, not wanting to startle it. When she pointed the flashlight toward the sounds, she yelped. “Ollie? Sweet Ollie? No, not our Ollie,” she moaned, as if to talk herself out of what she now could clearly see.

“Mommy?” she heard her daughter’s muffled call. “Let me see. Let me out, Mommy, please.”

Lena got her daughter. Together they walked back to the spot Cassidy had somehow noticed in near darkness, Lena now revealing the impossible. “Be strong, Cass,” she said. “Be the strong girl I know you are.”

“Ollie, noooo,” Cassidy cried when she drew close enough to recognize her dog. A flock of migrating geese seemed to answer her far above, their voices distorted with the wind and distance.

Lena knelt with her daughter beside Ollie, his tongue lolling, his eyes rolling upward. He pushed his paw toward Cassidy’s hand, and she took it, rubbing it as she spoke, “I love you, Ollie. You’re my best friend, sweet Ol. Don’t leave me, please,” she whispered in his ear. One long exhale, and his head fell to the side. Lena watched his paw hang limp in Cass’s hands.

Two impossibly bright headlights, like searchlights, lit up the road. Lena reached for Cassidy and shined the flashlight on the car, not knowing whether to be thankful or fearful. The light revealed a 2010 blue Chevy van, Massachusetts plates. Kevin.

The van pulled over, and Kevin jumped out, hazards blinking loudly and brightly in the ink of night. Even in the low light, Lena could see his terrified look, his eyes panicked, his angular body tortured. Seeing Ollie, he collapsed over him, shaking him, begging him to be anything but dead. “Why, why, why?” he shouted, looking up and cursing at the sky. He pulled Cassidy toward him, and the two of them wept, collapsing in a tent of sorrow.

Lena hovered on the boundary between berm and road to protect them from oncoming cars. But she could not protect any of them from their broken trinity. She touched her husband’s shoulder, and he looked up. In the blinking red lights, she searched his eyes, hard.

“No, Lena,” he implored, “I would never do what you’re thinking. I made a careless mistake. It was just another in a thousand stupid mistakes.”

“Daddy, don’t leave us!” Cassidy cried, reaching for her father.

Lena rocked back and forth, slowly, self-soothing, praying her own strength could heal the family she loved most in this world. She had the overwhelming sensation her body was receding, the pain of these moments, days, and months threatening more harm. If she studied the night sky, here, on this lonely road, endless fields stretching out from either side, maybe some resolve greater than she’d known might envelop her, shield her from the fallout of the singular deed already defining her life.