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by Linda Hepler Evie was sitting at her desk, reading the list of incoming fourth graders when she saw the name: Thomas A. Maxwell. to another school? How could time have passed so quickly? Her hands began to tremble. In a few minutes Thomas A. Maxwell would file into her room with the other children and look at her across "Oh, no," she thought. Why had she not kept better track of the years, transferred his desk. Would she be able to pick him from the others? It will be the eyes, she thought. There would be no mistaking the eyes. Rick's eyes, her own Indian grandmother's eyes. woman's handwriting, "Thomas A. Maxwell, age 4 months." "Coincidence," Evie thought, "just a coincidence. Any woman who would sleep with a high school kid, would sleep with others. That child could be Ten years ago Rick had been a high school senior, wild, always in trouble, filling the house with his anger and their lives with one disaster after another. She the shelf above the washer, and when gone. anyone's." She had set the picture on had sat in the dark living room, listening in disbelief to her son, his
Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press
Published: Jan 8, 1991
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