She didn’t look up at me, and she didn’t ask for a single change to the terms.

Victoria quietly signed the voluntary surrender documents without a word.

The morning mist on Lake Anne rose in long white ribbons that melted away three feet above the dark water.

I stood at the end of the wooden dock with both hands wrapped around a heavy ceramic mug of black coffee.

The air smelled of damp pine needles and wet cedar boards.

Three weeks had passed since Arthur Vance stamped the final trust transfer notices in his strip mall office.