I drove slow, and not because of the rain. A mounting dread. Landmark after landmark came into view. The weird weathervane stuck in the ground, now rich with green lichen. The huge rock formation jutting out of nowhere that we’d imaginatively called “Comet.” But new things, too. A meadow where I could’ve sworn there had been woods. A new forest that looked like a tree farm where my father had once planted crops. The whole time the sense of the rich looking down on us, because if I craned my neck, I could see the LED lights from glass boxes on stilts. A kind of odd, alien judgment.

The greens were so various, so fresh, though. Seen through the rain-smudged window. Reduced to textures. I put the window down a crack and let in the same clean smell I remembered. That unique dead leaves, new growth smell.

By the time I pulled up in the driveway and parked next to the house, I was both restored and hollowed out. But the house defeated me all over again. Everything had a sheen and sense of being well maintained that felt off.

The barn freshly painted a deep red with white stripes. The house a dull yet feisty blue, also with white trim. The roof gray and in perfect condition, except for leaves and small branches from the storm. A few chickens pecked in the gravel and weeds, enjoying the rain. Off to the side, past the oak tree, an enormous white tent had been set up. For what purpose, I couldn’t guess.

I got out, holding my cane, but not bothering with the extra struggle of an umbrella. The people who lived here hadn’t been downtrodden, surely. It felt like an exhibit or a model home. Made me doubt my memories. A stranger who came upon this place wouldn’t guess a madwoman had lived here, an abusive grandfather.

A cheery light shone butter yellow from the kitchen. The door had a piece of driftwood nailed to it with the words “Peace in the Lord’s Home” painted on.

It felt so unreal, I wondered if I’d died, jumping off the balcony, and all the rest was purgatory or hell. That would explain a lot.

I knocked anyway, sure a stranger would answer. Leaning on the cane. Trying to compose a smile that wasn’t a wince.

The door swung open and Shot stood there.

I stepped back sudden, lost my footing even with the cane, went sprawling on my back, one hand out, fallen to the wet gravel.