If Pastor Dale’s deer-stand was built as a place from which to squeeze a hair trigger, it also ladled up a grand view of the valley below, thick with hickory, sycamore, and elm.
Technically, you needed only one eye to take a photo, but you needed the other to see.
Over the next few weeks, a series of strange and unsettling incidents occurred. On more than one night, Glory was jarred from sleep by angry shouts coming from across the street.
There’s a piano player in the restaurant on the night Zoe tells you she’s pregnant.
Whenever someone asks me, “So, what do you do?” I like to say, “I am a crash test dummy tech for the National Highway Traffic Safety folks.”
A dead ringer for Josey. She sneezes as she walks into the pharmacy, and I look up from the newspaper I’m not supposed to be reading.
Now that Kate was safely out of the way—silenced permanently in a corner plot with a view of the freeway—the pedigreed vultures swooped in.
Marylou was breaking it off with the human race once and for all, leaving the whole miserable lot for good, and this time for real.
The only work he could find was at the truckers’ paradise on the north side of town where the main drag reverts into a numbered highway heading straight into whatever freezing nothing abounds above us.