We lay in silence for a long time before I remembered I had somewhere to be. My eyes flew to the clock. It was almost midnight.

“Time to get back in bed,” I whispered. I tucked Josh into the narrow hospital bed and kissed his forehead where a creamy slice of moonlight fell across his face. “Love you, sweetie.”

He yawned and rolled onto his side. “Love you too, Mommy.”

I lay on the couch, my eyes wide, staring at the ceiling. A hospital room was never dark—not totally. And it was rarely quiet. The machines in the room hissed and spluttered; doctors and nurses hurried past; lights flooded the room; there was the scrape of curtains being pulled back against metal rods and the sound of bells and beeping from different rooms. I couldn’t have gone back to sleep if I’d wanted to.

Eventually Josh’s breath deepened, the telltale click at the back of his throat indicating he was asleep.

I pulled on my fleece-lined ankle boots and slipped into my wool coat. Then I tucked the canvas bag with the prescriptions into my purse and crossed my fingers, hoping Josh wouldn’t wake up in the next hour or so.

Outside, the night was crisp, a cool breeze cutting sharply through my coat, biting at my cheeks and fingertips. I pulled my knitted hat down and drove carefully through town. The last thing I needed was one of Nate’s colleagues pulling me over right now. Fortunately, the streets were empty at this time of night, not a soul in sight.

At the edge of town, I crossed the bridge and turned downriver in the direction of the old Skamania Mill. I drove for miles, the dark road potted with holes and cracks that jarred my teeth and set me on edge.

Eventually I pulled up next to a beat-up old Ford parked in front of a chain-link fence. There was only one car. There should be two. I debated waiting around, but I was already late. I grabbed the flashlight from the glove compartment and tucked my purse over one shoulder, heart thundering in my ears. I wiped sweaty palms on my jeans.

When I got out, I instantly heard the distant rumble of the falls. A wind-driven mist rose beyond the warehouse, fingers curling over the evergreen trees, sliding over the river, and tangling at the bottom of the mill.

I slid through a gap in the chain-link fence and crossed a long-deserted parking lot. A few years back, the building had been rezoned for commercial redevelopment, but city officials had found that the steel trusses atop the walls were damaged, forcing the company to shelve the project. The building had sat abandoned ever since.