A cedar shaving flipped over the ridge and landed on the shoulder next to my boot.

At six I was back on the lake road.

The county had strung yellow tape from Diane’s mailbox to the utility pole.

Diane sat on her porch with a stack of mail in her lap and her hands folded neatly on top of the envelopes.

The Hendersons came down the sidewalk with their dog.

They looked down at their shoes and kept walking.

Diane watched them until they rounded the corner.