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I
didn
’
t
sleep
well
that
night
,
even
after
I
was
done
crying
.
The
constant
whooshing
of
the
rain
and
wind
across
the
roof
wouldn
’
t
fade
into
the
background
.
I
pulled
the
faded
old
quilt
over
my
head
,
and
later
added
the
pillow
,
too
.
But
I
couldn
’
t
fall
asleep
until
after
midnight
,
when
the
rain
finally
settled
into
a
quieter
drizzle
.
Thick
fog
was
all
I
could
see
out
my
window
in
the
morning
,
and
I
could
feel
the
claustrophobia
creeping
up
on
me
.
You
could
never
see
the
sky
here
;
it
was
like
a
cage
.
Breakfast
with
Charlie
was
a
quiet
event
.
He
wished
me
good
luck
at
school
.
I
thanked
him
,
knowing
his
hope
was
wasted
.
Good
luck
tended
to
avoid
me
.
Charlie
left
first
,
off
to
the
police
station
that
was
his
wife
and
family
.
After
he
left
,
I
sat
at
the
old
square
oak
table
in
one
of
the
three
unmatching
chairs
and
examined
his
small
kitchen
,
with
its
dark
paneled
walls
,
bright
yellow
cabinets
,
and
white
linoleum
floor
.
Nothing
was
changed
.
My
mother
had
painted
the
cabinets
eighteen
years
ago
in
an
attempt
to
bring
some
sunshine
into
the
house
.
Over
the
small
fireplace
in
the
adjoining
handkerchief
-
sized
family
room
was
a
row
of
pictures
.
First
a
wedding
picture
of
Charlie
and
my
mom
in
Las
Vegas
,
then
one
of
the
three
of
us
in
the
hospital
after
I
was
born
,
taken
by
a
helpful
nurse
,
followed
by
the
procession
of
my
school
pictures
up
to
last
year
’
s
.
Those
were
embarrassing
to
look
at
-
I
would
have
to
see
what
I
could
do
to
get
Charlie
to
put
them
somewhere
else
,
at
least
while
I
was
living
here
.
It
was
impossible
,
being
in
this
house
,
not
to
realize
that
Charlie
had
never
gotten
over
my
mom
.
It
made
me
uncomfortable
.
I
didn
’
t
want
to
be
too
early
to
school
,
but
I
couldn
’
t
stay
in
the
house
anymore
.
I
donned
my
jacket
-
which
had
the
feel
of
a
biohazard
suit
-
and
headed
out
into
the
rain
.
It
was
just
drizzling
still
,
not
enough
to
soak
me
through
immediately
as
I
reached
for
the
house
key
that
was
always
hidden
under
the
eaves
by
the
door
,
and
locked
up
.
The
sloshing
of
my
new
waterproof
boots
was
unnerving
.
I
missed
the
normal
crunch
of
gravel
as
I
walked
.
I
couldn
’
t
pause
and
admire
my
truck
again
as
I
wanted
;
I
was
in
a
hurry
to
get
out
of
the
misty
wet
that
swirled
around
my
head
and
clung
to
my
hair
under
my
hood
.
Inside
the
truck
,
it
was
nice
and
dry
.
Either
Billy
or
Charlie
had
obviously
cleaned
it
up
,
but
the
tan
upholstered
seats
still
smelled
faintly
of
tobacco
,
gasoline
,
and
peppermint
.
The
engine
started
quickly
,
to
my
relief
,
but
loudly
,
roaring
to
life
and
then
idling
at
top
volume
.
Well
,
a
truck
this
old
was
bound
to
have
a
flaw
.
The
antique
radio
worked
,
a
plus
that
I
hadn
’
t
expected
.
Finding
the
school
wasn
’
t
difficult
,
though
I
’
d
never
been
there
before
.
The
school
was
,
like
most
other
things
,
just
off
the
highway
.
It
was
not
obvious
that
it
was
a
school
;
only
the
sign
,
which
declared
it
to
be
the
Forks
High
School
,
made
me
stop
.
It
looked
like
a
collection
of
matching
houses
,
built
with
maroon
-
colored
bricks
.
There
were
so
many
trees
and
shrubs
I
couldn
’
t
see
its
size
at
first
.
Where
was
the
feel
of
the
institution
?
I
wondered
nostalgically
.
Where
were
the
chain
-
link
fences
,
the
metal
detectors
?
