Under the Dome

His desk was bare except for his laptop, which was standing open. His screen saver was a picture from a long-ago Little League game. Both Howie and Chip, then eleven or twelve, were wearing the green jerseys of the Sanders Hometown Drug Monarchs; the picture had been taken the year Howie and Rusty Everett had taken the Sanders team to the state finals. Chip had his arms around his father and Brenda had her arms around both of them. A good day. But fragile. As fragile as a crystal goblet. Who knew such things at the time, when it still might be possible to hold on a little?

She hadn't been able to get hold of Chip yet, and the thought of that call—supposing she could make it—undid her completely. Sobbing, she got down on her knees beside her husband's desk. She didn't fold her hands but put them together palm to palm, as she had as a child, kneeling in flannel pajamas beside her bed and reciting the mantra of God bless Mom, God bless Dad, God bless my goldfish who doesn't have a name yet.

'God, this is Brenda. I don't want him back… well, I do, but I know You can't do that. Only give me the strength to bear this, okay? And I wonder if maybe… I don't know if this is blasphemy or not, probably it is, but I wonder ifYou could let him talk to me one more time. Maybe let him touch me one more time, like he did this morning.'

At the thought of it—his fingers on her skin in the sunshine—she cried even harder.

'I know You don't deal in ghosts—except of course for the Holy one—but maybe in a dream? I know it's a lot to ask, but… oh God, there's such a hole in me tonight. I didn't know there could be such holes in a person, and I'm afraid I'll fall in. If You do this for me, I'll do something for You. All You have to do is ask. Please, God, just a touch. Or a word. Even if it's in a dream.' She took a deep, wet breath. 'Thank you. Thy will be done, of course. Whether I like it or not.' She laughed weakly. 'Amen.'

She opened her eyes and got up, holding the desk for support. One hand nudged the computer, and the screen brightened at once. He was always forgetting to turn it off, but at least he kept it plugged in so the battery wouldn't run down. And he kept his electronic desktop far neater than she did; hers was always cluttered with downloads and electronic sticky-notes. On Howie's desktop, always just three files stacked neatly below the hard-disc icon: CURRENT, where he kept reports of ongoing investigations; COURT, where he kept a list of who (including himself) was down to testify, and where, and why.The third file was MORIN ST. MANSE, where he kept everything having to do with the house. It occurred to her that if she opened that one she might find something about the generator, and she needed to knew about that so she could keep it running as long as possible. Henry Morrison from the PD would probably be happy to change the current propane canister, but what if there were no spares? If that were the case, she should buy more at Burpee's or the Gas & Grocery before they were all gone.

She put her fingertip on the mousepad, then paused.There was a fourth file on the screen, lurking way down in the lefthand corner. She had never seen it before. Brenda tried to remember the last time she'd happened to look at the desktop of this computer, and couldn't.

VADER, the filename read.

Well, there was only one person in town Howie referred to as Vader, as in Darth: Big Jim Rennie.

Curious, she moved the cursor to the file and double-clicked it, wondering if it was password protected.

It was. She tried WILDCATS, which opened his CURRENT file (he hadn't bothered to protect COURT), and it worked. In the file were two documents. One was labeled ONGOING INVESTIGATION. The other was a PDF doc titled LETTER FROM SMAG. In Howie-speak, that stood for State of Maine Attorney General. She clicked on it.

Brenda scanned the AG's letter with growing amazement as the tears dried on her cheeks. The first thing her eye happenec on was the salutation: not Dear Chief Perkins but Dear Duke.

Although the letter was couched in lawyer-speak rather than Howie-speak, certain phrases leaped out at her as if in boldface type. Misappropriation of town goods and services was the first. Selectman Sanders's involvement seems all but certain was the next. Then This malfeasance is wider and deeper than we could have imagined three months ago.

And near the bottom, seeming not just in boldface but in capital letters: MANUFACTURE AND SALE OF ILLEGAL DRUGS.

It appeared that her prayer had been answered, and in a completely unexpected way. Brenda sat down in Howie's chair, clicked ONGOING INVESTIGATION in the VADER file, and let her late husband talk to her.

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