Chapter 9In the distance, a Welcome to Ashby sign greeted him. The pain in Adam’s chest eased as morning broke over the hills in brilliant orange and red. Ashby lay nestled in a small valley. A village in Massachusetts so far north, its town line on two sides met with the New Hampshire border. Its quiet, fall-hued, tree-lined streets made Adam’s heart clench, overwhelmed by his memories. He searched along familiar roads, a lost child, aching for the comfort of his mother. And his stomach twisted into tighter knots the closer he got to his destination.
He pulled up in front of the rundown Victorian, and his heart sank. Once bright yellow paint now peeled off from the porch, the siding. The stone walkway cracked and overrun with brown and withered leaves.
But worst of all, a staked for-sal
