Kevin stopped to get the sandwiches before he came for me. Now he drives to a quiet spot off the main turnpike, just a mile or two away from the strip malls and the cars and the businesses, but it’s in the woods and as secluded as we can get in the city. It seems as if no one else knows about the place because we’re the only ones here.
He parks on the shoulder of the road and takes my hand as he leads me through tall sycamores that rustle in the scant summer breeze as we pass. There’s a small creek ahead, just a tiny stream of water bubbling over rocks and around fallen branches—the sound it makes drowns out the faint car horns and squeal of tires from the turnpike. I didn’t know this place was here, a little snippet of nature colored onto the edge of the city like a welcome relief from
