I knew where to look. God help me, after all these years, I still knew.
“Get in the car,” I said.
We drove out Route 9. Past the McDonald’s. Past the gas station. I drove slowly, looking at every parking lot. The Shamrock was gone. It was a cell phone store now. But two miles farther, there was a bar called the Lantern, with no windows and a neon beer sign that had been half-broken for as long as I could remember.
Greg’s blue truck was parked in the corner of the lot, facing the woods.
My heart sank so fast I felt dizzy.
“Stay in the car,” I told Sam.
“Mom…”
“Sam. Please. Stay in the car.”
He looked at me for a long moment. Then he nodded.
I got out. It was cold enough that my breath came out in clouds. I walked across the gravel toward the truck. As I got closer, I saw that the engine was running. I saw Greg in the driver’s seat. He wasn’t moving.
