He felt his legs warm as the pavement blurred beneath his feet. His muscles hummed as he pushed harder. Benevolence, Maryland, his town since birth, clipped past as he outran his demons. Cozy houses sat on pretty green lawns that butted up against tree-lined streets.

It was April, and the rain that had plagued them for a week straight had abated, giving way to one perfect day of sunshine and eighty-degree weather. Aldo Moretta had ducked out of the office an hour early to take advantage of it with a run.

He raised a hand to the hugely pregnant Carol Ann who sat in her driveway in a lawn chair while her husband, Carl, a stick figure of a man, weeded the front flower bed. Carol Ann wiggled her fingers at him.

There were a lot of things Aldo couldn’t control. Which is why he took very good care of the things he could. Like his body. He’d fine-tuned himself into an athletic machine with a six-minute mile and a three-hundred-and-fifteen-pound overhead squat. He made himself strong and quick and ready. In four weeks’ time, he’d be calling on it all. His National Guard unit was deploying—his fourth time.

He turned the corner and fished the biscuit out of his pocket at the excited yaps coming from behind Peggy Sue Marsico’s three-foot-tall picket fence. Smiegel the Beagle wagged his white-tipped tail in a blur. He tossed the treat and watched Smiegel catch it mid-air in a super-dog, ears-out dive. He grinned as the dog pranced proudly through the ferns, prize between his teeth.

Next door to Peggy Sue’s beige and blue ranch was Lincoln Reed’s place. Once an old gas station, the fire chief had transformed it into a killer bachelor pad. Linc made it his mission in life to bachelor the hell out of every eligible woman in the tri-county area. He was a charming, friendly commitment-phobe.

Linc was a blast to hang out with. It was too bad that he and Aldo’s best friend, Luke, could barely tolerate the sight of each other.

“What’s up, Moretta?” Linc called out, raising a beer while spraying down his truck with the hose. “Want a beer?”

“Maybe after a few more miles,” Aldo called back.

“Swing back,” Linc said, turning the hose on a grateful Aldo before switching back to the gleaming pickup.

With a wave, He was off again. He tuned into his footfalls as he skirted the cemetery. He didn’t look at the grave. Didn’t have to. Every time he passed this stretch of gently rolling green dotted with white headstones, he remembered.