“The noise awoke Ruth Ann, fuzzy on where she was and how she got here. Above her no ceiling, only rafters festooned with spider webs. She looked to her left and saw Shane sitting on a bed, sharpening something with a stone. “Good morning,” she said, smelling her breath, wishing she’d brought toothpaste. Shane grunted and continued what he was doing. The cabin was smaller than she’d thought. The floor simply a dirty slab of concrete. A large rock fireplace dominated one side of the room. The wal...ls, hewed logs, were soot-black and oozed resin. No window or back door. Ruth Ann stared at Shane, shirtless, wearing only black slacks torn and frayed at the cuffs. The same pants he’d worn to the funeral. She couldn’t distinguish his face with his head down, intently focused on whatever he was doing. Uncombed light-brown afro speckled with green bits. Hands and bare feet particularly dirty. Yet he looked very much a man. Tall, lean, muscular, curly hairs sprouting on his chest, he was the twin image of his father.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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