CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Maureen Hanks looked out the windshield and saw the looming shape of the Kingsville water tower. In the thick darkness of night, it stood out like a giant ghoul, always haunting the town. And because the town was so small, it sometimes served as a lighthouse of sorts, there to help people find the center of town.
Of course, Maureen was not in the center of town. She was in the front seat of Bob Tully’s pickup, parked at the edge of an old overgrown hayfield. She was putting her bra back on, her fingers still trembling from the intensity her body had just experienced. She was out of breath, as was Bob, both wiped out from the physical exertions of the last ten minutes. The truck smelled like sweat, s*x, and faintly of the sweet cheap wine she always drank when she met up
