Driving down the dusty country road that had once been his playground, Billy was pleased to see that nothing had changed around these parts. It was as though he was looking at a picture of his childhood. He drove past the Dunleys’ farm and that big red abandoned barn he’d been terrified of as boy, and slowly, the memories surfaced, some sad, some happy.
Feeling older, Billy turned the music down, finally stopping the car.
This was the place his father had died. He knew it from the tall crooked poplar tree standing guard by the road.
Billy popped the car door open and stepped out. He shivered a little, but from the emotion or the cool wind, he wasn’t sure. He was wearing his thin jean jacket and now he shut it tight, walking around the front of his green Mazda, closer to the ditch. For a
