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of the verdant field containing the feces colored mobile home. Martin quipped, “You know, I live in an actual house.”
    Cara questioned her motives upon seeing the decrepit structure. “Should I be here?” she asked herself. Then she thought of this young boy. Her face flushed. How could he have sliced through the protective, onion-like layers that she had built around herself? As much as his words had stung, they had been true. That was why she felt a flicker of attraction.
    Cara turned her head slightly and caught Martin in her peripheral vision. When she turned to focus on him, the young boy couldn’t break his leering eyes away fast enough. Caught staring at her body, he suddenly became interested in something outside his driver side window.
    She spoke to him in a sweet tone that she was not used to hearing come from her own mouth. “Do you know if he would be at church right now?”
    Martin looked at his wristwatch. Cara’s eyes crawled across the leather band and gold faceplate. “He used to go to the Methodist church. He would be there right now if he still does.”
    Gazing across the grassy field, she did not see a car or a truck in the dirt-covered lane that resembled a driveway. Turning back to her chauffeur, she asked, “Will you wait until I’ve seen if he’s home or not?”
    Martin forcefully exhaled and tried to look frustrated, but he agreed. He left the motor running as Cara exited the low-end sports car. The annoying ping signifying an open door began immediately. He watched her slowly covering the yard. About the time she climbed the concrete blocks that had been stacked into a set of makeshift stairs, Martin felt anger welling up inside. She had just used him. “Please don’t let him be home.” Martin wanted the drive back with her so he could berate her, insult her, and tell her what a bitch she was.
    Cara knew that Martin wanted her. She also knew that someone would have him, if solely for his money, so she wasn’t worried about him being lonely too long. The heartbreaker knocked on this stranger’s door three times in rapid succession. After a few tense seconds in which she worried that she was playing the part of a fool, the lock twisted and Cara heard the familiar ‘click’. The door opened a crack and a deep brown eye stared out at her.
    Bryant swung the door open wide as soon as the realization of the identity of his guest hit him. “Cara, I’m glad to see you. I can tell you that you were the last person I expected. How did you get out here?”
    “Martin.” She replied.
    “Martin Davis?” Bryant asked as he peered out at the mustang idling on the side of the road.
    “I guess.” She strained her voice to sound casual.
    “How did you find out where I live?”
    “Martin, again.” The nervousness became harder to hide. If he thought that Martin and she were. . .
    “Well, come inside. Have a seat.” The genuine smile on Bryant’s face put her at ease. He had already forgotten Martin in the excitement of seeing her. In his eyes flashed a hopeful look involving amorous motivations.
    “Hold on a sec.” She turned around and waved Martin away. The engine roared as the RPM’s launched into the red and the vehicle kicked up dust and gravel from the road. In only a moment, the car disappeared from sight and Cara entered this Bryant’s home.
    Surprisingly, his living room was clean and tidy. The carpet matched the walls, a simple shade of brown. A glass coffee table occupied the space before a beige sofa. Across the room, a black television rested on top of an entertainment center with a few scattered DVDs. Books covered most of the room. Cara smiled at the stacks on the table, on the floor, against the wall.
    “You’re the first truly literate person I’ve met down here.”
    Bryant laughed. “God, it must take a lot out of you to compliment someone.”
    Cara retorted. “Don’t expect another one anytime soon.” She surveyed the barren walls. No family photographs