2
Driving through Pitkin Point at 2:00 am was like driving through a ghost town. Nobody, absolutely nobody, was awake. There were no lights on anywhere, except the street lamps, which were thick on Main Street, but grew sparse in the residential areas.
Abigail weaved the hatchback down the short, quaint streets of her childhood, taking in some of the differences that stood out against her memories. Some of the familiar houses had changed their faces with different color schemes, new landscaping or remodeling. The Schmidts had built a new garage next to their house. The Petersons had added a second story. All of the trees were much bigger, while the houses were all smaller. Maybe they appeared so because of the growth of the trees, or maybe it was because Abigail viewed them through her g
