Chapter 8
Delaney pulled her Dodge Charger down the winding lane that led to the top of the hill and her parents’ farmhouse. Though it wasn’t too much bigger than Nana’s, it was made of brick with a large wraparound porch. Driving this road made her remember the long trudge from the school bus every afternoon, usually in the snow it seemed—though she supposed there were plenty of snowless days—and the relief of finally making it to the door where her mother always greeted her, often with a plate of chocolate chip cookies and a tall glass of milk.
Today, as she pulled in beside her father’s old work truck, her parents were in the yard, a tangle of Christmas lights around their feet wending their way up the porch railing next to a ladder she assumed her father had scaled at some point sinc
