“Just let me pay for this and I'll help you carry your things to the truck." He returned to the counter and set the Coca-Cola by the register. "How do you know where I live?" she asked. He looked over his shoulder. "It's a small town. I know where everyone lives." Later that evening, Melissa, Mitch, and Taylor were in the backyard, steaks and hot dogs already sizzling over charcoal, the first vestiges of summer lingering almost like a dream. It was a slow-moving evening, the air bruised with hum...idity and heat. The yellow sun hovered low in the sky just above the stationary dogwoods, the leaves motionless in the still evening air. While Mitch stood ready, tongs in hand, Taylor nursed a beer, his third of the evening. He had a nice buzz going and was drinking at just the right pace to keep it that way. After catching them up on what had been happening recently-including the search in the swamp-he mentioned that he'd seen Denise again at the store and that he'd dropped her groceries off. "They seem to be doing fine," he observed, slapping at a mosquito that had landed on his leg.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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