After the sun sets, I stand on the porch and look out over the white meadowfoam that glows faintly in the darkness like a low fog hugging the fields. Just what is Ashe’s problem with me? I’ve told him time and again that I’m not leaving. I’m not. What else can I do to prove it to him? And why do I feel as if I have to prove it to him?
Because part of me thinks maybe his skepticism will eat into Tobin and then he’ll start to think I’ll leave, too.
Past the fields, the woods are dark and foreboding, the trees black scratches against the night sky. Somewhere behind them sits the facility—I can’t see it from here but if I close my eyes I’m there again, standing in the exercise yard lit with large spotlights to keep it as bright as day at all hours. To deter escapes, perhaps, though it didn
