Read We Live in Water for Free Online Page B

swimming around in the blue light, a big square-headed whiskered thing probing the glass, and a skinny one with streaks of gold and a flitty little yellow one that darted in among the phony rocks. Michael was so close his nose almost touched the glass and his face was as blue as the fish, as he watched them swim the way he watched traffic out the window of Oren’s apartment, the way he looked at Oren in the car, the way he looked out at the world. And that’s when Oren understood.
    Do we live in water?
    He watched the fish come to the end of its blue world, invisible and impassible, turn, go around and turn again as he sensed another wall and another and on and on. It didn’t even look like water in there, so clear and blue. And the goddamn fish just swam in its circles, as if he believed that, one of these times, the glass wouldn’t be there and he would just sail off, into the open.
    Oren put his hand on the kid’s shoulder.
    Michael turned.
    “We ain’t like fish, Michael,” Oren said. “You can do whatever you want.”
    The kid looked back at the tank.
    Oren turned to Flett. His throat felt tight. “Will you take Katie a note?”
    Flett nodded and handed him a betting slip and a pen. Oren concentrated on the note. He wrote carefully. He signed his name, and then thought of one more thing to say. “I’ll come back when I can.” It gave him a kind of courage. He finished the note and handed it to Flett, who wouldn’t meet his eyes.
    “Listen,” Oren said to Flett, “if this goes bad, I got a boat in Seattle.”
    “Oren,” Flett said. “If there was anything I could . . .”
    “No. Listen to me,” Oren said, his voice cracking. “I’m goin’ on a boat. Anyone asks. I got a boat in Seattle. Okay?”
    Finally, Flett nodded.
    They moved back up the stairs, Flett and the boy first, and him and Baker and Rutledge behind. If he was going to run again, this was probably his best bet. But Oren knew he needed to see the boy get in that car first.
    Bannen was smoking. God he wanted that cigarette. But Bannen just dropped it when Oren came out. Flett opened the passenger door to the Chevy and the boy climbed in. He looked out the window at Oren, gave a little wave. Oren’s chin quivered but he felt brave again, as if Bannen couldn’t touch him. Oren waved back, the guys standing close to him, but not holding his arms, trying to make it seem casual.
    He watched Flett’s car back up, turn and head down the road. The hands gripped Oren’s arms again and Bannen went to the trunk of his car. When the big man returned with a bat, Oren’s head fell to his chest. He strained then, but he knew.
    Rutledge and Baker tightened their grip and Oren’s feet scratched at the dirt driveway. He could just see dawn start to break on the foothills above the lake but Bannen wasn’t likely to wait. The first swing took him in the lower back and folded him. Oren lost whatever breath he’d had and felt something give in his hip. The hands let go of him and he dropped to the ground, pawing for his breath. He closed his eyes and tried to find something to look at in his mind. He came back to that morning on the carrier, the blue sky and the ocean, and where they met, that endless line. Everything that isn’t sky and water lives for a moment in that little gray band. Above and below it, the blue stretches forever.

Thief
    IT’S GOT TO BE the girl.
    Wayne opens her door and hall light spills over the bedroom floor, across her sleeping face. She’s fourteen. Sits all day in headphones, glares out at the world. Wears her jeans too tight. Pretends to walk to the bus stop and gets in that knucklehead’s Nova. Tapes album covers all over walls—like this jackass guitar player with curly hair above her bed: FRAMPTON COMES ALIVE ! On the pillow, her hair looks like Frampton’s—a ratty halo. She spends thirty minutes on it every morning, runs up half the power bill on the goddamn blow dryer. Wayne looks at the other albums on the