Chapter Twenty-Eight
I catch the next flight to San Francisco. I can barely keep my eyes open as I turn into the long drive. This time, there aren’t cars everywhere. The drive is as lonely and dark as the night sky. I cut the engine when I reach the wide-open area between the barn and the crushing pad, banishing the memories that float around my head like a mobile. Emmaline in a mask, Emmaline laughing as she holds up an open-holed b*a she just finished creating. Emmaline holding her mother’s hand, Emmaline leaning against me as they lower Ingrid’s casket into the ground to rest next to Ivar.
But every memory slices me to the bone, razor-sharp, and exacting in its pain. I’m doing a f**k-all job of banishing. The dashboard clock shines 2:37, casting the car in blue light. The trailer, par
