OMAHA SHOULD HAVE BEEN the halfway mark, but stops, traffic jams, construction, and maybe his own nerves meant that what should have been a seven-hour drive turned into twelve hours on the road.
The sun was low in the sky, tinting the green fields with amber as it sank towards the horizon. The land was flat, startlingly so after the mountains of Colorado. Hours of driving across it hadn’t been enough to get used to such an open horizon. As such, Brendan could see the house long before he reached it. It had white siding and a red roof, with gable windows looking east and west across the fields above a wraparound screen porch. Beyond it were the barns and outbuildings.
There were lights on, beckoning warm and inviting. At least, Brendan hoped they were inviting.
He parked his car next to
