That October afternoon did not feel like the beginning of anything; it felt like the end of a life already shattered. I was an old woman on a sagging porch, staring at Meridian Lake and thinking only of my dead son when Cynthia’s car tore down the gravel road like it was fleeing a fire. I watched her drag my old suitcase to the water, watched it arc out and break the lake’s perfect glass. Then the muffled cry came from inside, and the world nar… Continues…
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