Erin Lowell froze, her eyes surprisingly clear and bright. "I—"
Zane Jennings felt a knot in his chest. "Get some rest."
For some reason, he didn't want to hear about her past from her.
Zane Jennings walked out, closing the door under her lingering gaze.
The hallway light was on. He stood there for a moment, then pulled out a cigarette and lit it. CLICK. The flame illuminated his somber profile.
After a long while, he glanced back at the door, gave a small laugh, and stubbed out his cigarette before finally going inside.
The next day, in the pre-dawn hours, the last rain of late autumn fell. The morning was shrouded in a thick fog. All around was quiet, and a line of muddy footprints marked the bluestone path.
Nancy Warner, holding a bouquet of white chrysanthemums, stopped before a tombstone. A photo was attached to the stone, slightly faded. The person in the picture was smiling.
There were words on the gravestone—words she least wanted to see.
