Evelyn started walking.
She knew exactly where she was going. Her feet knew it the way a scar knows weather.
Past the elementary school with its new playground and its old chain-link fence. Past the cemetery where her parents lay side by side, their names carved cleanly into stone while her own name had been dragged through mud for thirty years. Past the old orchard that had gone wild, apples falling and rotting where no one bothered to gather them.
And then the road split toward the lake, County Road 7 narrowing until the town’s polished face fell away.
At the edge of the woods, where weeds rose tall like warnings, she saw it.
HART’S COUNTRY MART & GAS
At least, that’s what it used to say.
Now the wooden sign hung crooked on one chain, swinging slightly in the breeze like a tired pendulum counting down nothing.
