"Giving up on love was harder than kicking out Jesus."
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Years passed before I climbed again to the top of that forgettable hill. I parked my rental on the shoulder, not far from where I estimated that Dan and I scrambled into his Corvette and sped away, headlights cutting the darkness behind us, so long ago.
A couple of hours free, I followed an impulse ignored many times before and drove out the still lightly populated road I walked so often I had it memorized. It wasn’t dark, as it usually was then, but heavily overcast, a uniform, mid-afternoon light making every landmark ordinary.
I didn’t expect to find anything specific. Oh, maybe I’d see something hinting at what became of the family. After forty years, that was unlikely. What I did find, however, shocked me a little.
Where her house stood remained only a field abandoned to wild grasses, isolated trees and mud, not the trace of a foundation betraying the past. Where I guessed the trailer must have rested in its temporary mooring, nothing.
The rickety garage was gone. Ordinary wind and rain would have gotten it by now, if the bulldozer hadn’t got it first. Even the last farm house and barn I used as markers had fallen....