My hand went straight to my pinky finger, gripping the gold band so hard the metal bit into my skin.
“Arthur is in Oakhaven,” I said.
“Arthur bought the house by the creek two years ago, Nora.”
“He signed the papers, Martha. He agreed to stay away.”
“He is a good boy, Nora, but you cannot hide from the town forever,” Martha said.
She stood up, her joints popping in the quiet morning air.
“You think he does not know where his daughter is?” Martha asked.
“He took the money,” I said.
“Money does not keep a man from looking at a map,” Martha said.
She walked down the porch steps, her orthotic shoes crunching on the gravel path.
“I have groceries to put away,” she said without looking back.
I stayed on the porch, watching her walk toward her own house down the road.
The damp pine smell was thick in the air, reminding me of the spring we built the cottage.
