I could see by the expression on his face that I’d wounded him deeply.

I know, sweetheart. You don’t have to tell me that I was being a jerk. What a stupid, graceless thing to say to this man who loved me and had helped me since I was a kid.

No, Darrell was not my father, but where was my own father? Off on the road somewhere. If I was lucky, I talked to him a couple of times a month. I’d always promised Dad that I was fine with that. I knew he was busy, but in fact, his long absences made me feel lost and alone. Not having him around made me angry, if you want the truth, so I can only guess how you feel about me. There were times when I’d desperately needed my father, times when I was hurt and crying and alone and in pain, times when I was so far down in a well that I couldn’t see blue sky, and he wasn’t there for me. I felt abandoned. Bitter. All I had from him was a poem in my head that he’d sung to me when I was a girl. But I needed more, and Darrell, more than anyone, had stood by me when my father didn’t. Here I was snappishly telling him to leave me alone.

Did I apologize for being cruel? No. I kept driving.

Finally, Darrell changed the subject, his voice cool. “Snow’s coming.”

“What?”

He leaned forward, studying the horizon over the trees. “Snow’s on the way. Probably a lot.”

He was right. Around here, we learned to read the winter sky. In another day, a blizzard would bury us. In another day, my life would take an irrevocable turn, thanks to the deep, deep snow. Of course, I had no way of knowing that, sweetheart, but as I look back, I wouldn’t have changed that day even if I could. That’s what you need to understand. Despite everything, I have no regrets.

Anyway, the snow hadn’t come yet. I just drove.

We reached the house where Gordon Brink had been killed. Erica was moving out. Boxes were packed and being loaded on a van. She oversaw the process, carefully telling the men what to put where. When she saw us, her face screwed up with annoyance, because we were interrupting her schedule. Even so, she smoothed her golden hair and told the moving men to take a break. Then she led us into the house.

“You’re leaving?” I asked when we’d taken seats in the living room, where a fire crackled in the fireplace.