“Everybody in our little town knows where everybody else lives and for how long and with whom. Patrick lives alone toward the end of a long dirt road that winds into the woods, just on our side of the town line between Dereham and Riverdale. I’ve never been to his house but I find it easily. There’s a bank of mailboxes at the foot of the road and the one labeled fourteen says Whelan on the side. I take a right at the long, anonymous driveway just after the one marked twelve, my old navy hatchbac...k bucking in the dry potholes. My heart starts to hammer when I spot Patrick’s ancient pickup in the driveway. It’s Sunday morning and I wish I were religious so I could remember I’m supposed to be at church like a good person and get the hell out of here. Instead I park my car behind his truck and slam the door as loud as I can—a warning. I trot up a path of slate flagstones to the door of his small red house and I push the bell, contorting my face into an imitation of casual cool. But Patrick doesn’t come to the door.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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