The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. She had other boyfriends and hung out at Foster’s only bar most of the time. ’ ‘Pah! You can never be Valade. “I’d chuck this lark right off if I were you, Vee,” he said. She took a shower after a particularly harsh volleyball debacle only to find that her locker had been picked and her outfit of the day, gray sweatpants and a shapeless pink sweater, were gone. Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners. ‘Not kill me, I mean.
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