I didn’t go up after her.

I turned to the back door, grabbed the heavy iron flashlight off the bench, and walked straight out into the dark yard.

The autumn air slapped my face, smelling of wet leaves and cold mud.

My woodshop stood seventy feet behind the main house, dark and silent against the tree line.

I unlocked the double padlock, pushed the heavy door open, and flipped on the overhead tube lights.

The sharp, familiar smell of pine pitch and varnish filled the room, but I walked right past my workbench.