He turned around and ran out the door, letting the screen bang sharply against the house.
He ran down the gravel to the main road and then started running west away from Washington and Millsburg—and the old Perkins place.
An approaching car beeped and swerved and beeped again, but he hardly noticed.
Leslie—dead—girl friend—rope—broke—fell—you—you—you. The words exploded in his head like corn against the sides of the popper.
God—dead—you—Leslie—dead—you. He ran until he was stumbling but he kept on, afraid to stop.
Knowing somehow that running was the only thing that could keep Leslie from being dead.
It was up to him. He had to keep going. Behind him came the baripity of the pickup, but he couldn't turn around.
He tried to run faster, but his father passed him and stopped the pickup just ahead, then jumped out and ran back.
He picked Jess up in his arms as though he were a baby. For the first few seconds Jess kicked and struggled against the strong arms.
Then Jess gave himself over to the numbness that was buzzing to be let out from a corner of his brain.
He leaned his weight upon the door of the pickup and let his head thud-thud against the window.
His father drove stiffly without speaking, though once he cleared his throat as though he were going to say something,
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