We drove away from the bank curb, the green sedan bouncing over the uneven asphalt of Broad Street. Daniel sat very still beside me in the passenger seat, his fingers resting near his silver watch.
Neither of us spoke as we crossed the intersection by the hardware store, where the red Georgia clay dust from the county road coated the bottom of my windshield. The town of Oakhaven seemed smaller under the grey autumn sky, as if the buildings were slowly crowding each other out. We passed the old pharmacy and the dry goods store, places where we had once walked as teenagers holding hands.
We pulled into the gravel lot of the Oakhaven Diner just as the whistles blew for noon. The diner was already crowded with men from the local lumber yard, the warm air inside thick with the smell of fried onions and coffee.
We found a booth near the back, the red vinyl cold against my legs. I smoothed the polyester fabric of my skirt, pressing my palms flat to stop the slight trembling in my fingers.
“He was watching us from the window,” Daniel said, his voice flat and clipped.
