Mark stood at the stainless steel sink, scrubbing last night’s heavy aluminum roasting pan.

I picked up a soft yellow dish towel with frayed edges and dried four glass dessert bowls one at a time.

“You hear a car out on the road last night?” Mark asked without turning from the running water.

“I heard a truck around midnight,” I said.

“It didn’t stop.”

“Where do you think she ended up?” Mark asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” I said.

“She chose her road ten years ago, and she chose it again yesterday.”