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Harlan had said it wasn’t far to the residence, but at times JJ wasn’t sure the man would make it. He leaned heavily on the cane he’d brought from JJ’s house as the ground rose beneath them, quiet except for the soft wheeze of his breath. Quieter than Luther clomping behind her. But the house was now in sight, so much as anything was in sight in the darkening wood.
The house that held her daughter.
Her eyes—her heart—strained for a glimpse of Evie, though her mind knew better.
Only one story, but raised as Harlan had said, with a deep, covered porch. Set off to one side, far enough to be inconvenient but probably not quite far enough to avoid the odor in high summer, was an honest-to-God outhouse. She didn’t see anything else manmade nearby other than the odd bit of trash in the woo
