Lucy
I don’t know what woke me in the quiet of that last night. Perhaps it was the front door closing as she left, or the sound of her feet on the path. My eyes opened, and her bed was empty. I went to our window. The clouds of yesterday’s storm still cluttered the sky, but stars glinted, and the moon shone on her slender figure walking up the road. Though she carried nothing, I knew she was leaving.
I put on my shoes and forced myself to move quietly down the stairs, every slow step an agony. I opened the front door by excruciating inches, tiptoed across the front porch with its treacherous, creaking floorboards. When I reached the road I could no longer see her, but I knew where she’d gone. She was on the journey she’d begun in that clearing in the woods with Abe: across the bridge, to
