“The hardware clerk said these four-inch lag bolts will go three inches deep into the oak framing beside the porch steps,” Lynn said, wiping dust from her sleeves.

“Marcus Vance said he would bring his power drill over tomorrow evening to help me bolt them down,” I said.

Lynn reached into her padded coat pocket and pulled out a glossy picture postcard with an Oregon postmark.

“This was sitting in my mailbox by mistake this morning,” Lynn said, handing the card across the bumper.

“The mail carrier dropped it on my porch instead of yours.”

The front of the card showed a broad cedar deck surrounded by pink dahlias, looking out toward distant pine forests under clear blue skies.