39
Lynn drove fast on her way upstate. Maybe out of anxiety, maybe to escape the gathering storm, the real and imagined one. The latter was caused by the fact that Ryan’s text was weird and she hadn’t gotten a reply to any of the calls or follow up texts she’d sent. Or maybe it was the choice of meeting place—a secluded cabin where she had lost her innocence in more ways than one twenty years ago.
The cabin actually wasn’t all that secluded anymore. Newly-built homes lined the long, straight road out of Green Haven that led to it, and she made a couple of wrong turns off this road into the forest before she found the path she was looking for. The one that led to a brook spanned by a wooden bridge leading to the cabin made of river rock and wood, and enclosed by pines.
Ryan’s blue pickup
