The wind picked up as their car rocked along the winding road and made its way down the lane, barely able to drive faster than a few miles per hour. Norma clenched her teeth at yet another sharp pain in her abdomen. She bit down on her knuckles. When the pain subsided, she looked down at the imprint of teeth on her fingers.
The car rocked them over the uneven road. Norma looked at the upholstered cloth of the seat beneath her, wet from perspiration. To make matters worse, the bumpy ride doused the car with a muddy grit and the windshield with slimy dirt. She shuddered as Will dodged one puddle after another.
How could this only be a mile? It seemed like they’d crossed the earth by the time the lane widened and the trees grew apart. They finally saw a broken white fence on the left side of the road, the one they’d expected, neglected as it stood erect only at its center posts, falling down on either side onto overgrown grass.
Norma looked at the house beyond. “Can this be her home?”
The Victorian house in front of them beckoned, white with dark green shutters hanging loosely by the windows, paint peeling off the walls, a broken swing on the front porch, a fallen tree bisecting the front yard. The reflection of the sky’s glassy gray obscured Norma’s view through the windows into the house. Two goats ate grass in the yard, but Agnes didn’t see any chickens. A rickety barn stood by itself away from the house, its door open and blowing.
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