Chapter Twenty
By about four thirty, we were done. Outside, the air felt warm and liquid, the heat of the previous day lingering. For exercise, we bypassed the shortcut and walked the dirt shoulder of Route 1 to the lot next door.
The only sound in the predawn stillness was a robin, sending out its two-note singsong from a stand of trees in the cemetery across the street. Under a streetlight, an opossum, about the size of my cat, nibbled on the grass. As we drew closer, the possum froze on its back legs, in alert mode, then scampered off into some brush. Apparently, possums don’t always play possum.
When we reached the cars, we paused before getting in. “Well,” Duvall said. “It’s been real.”
“Yeah, sure has.”
He peered at me. “You OK? You look beat.”
“I’m fine.” I gave him my plucky
