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The February morning air was cold, but the winter sun felt golden and warm on Winnie’s face. This was the best time of year in Tucson: chilly days, but always a blue sky. It lifted the spirit the way a cloudy, gloomy day never could. There was a reason people chose to live in the desert, despite the broiling heat of summer.
Winnie dug her gloved hands into the pockets of her purple fleece vest and watched her yellow Labrador cavort on the long stretch of university grass. She had named the dog Clover because of a childhood book Winnie read so many times the edges of the cardboard cover were worn away as if mice had gnawed them.
Winnie’s mother had never allowed any pets. She kept a clean house, and a dog or cat would make everything feel hairy and dirty.
Winnie’s brother, Steven, got
