Winter 2017
Late March 2002. “Mud time”—so called in Mad River Junction, Ohio.
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Riding back from her studio, Ivy thought, I’ll just stop for a minute.
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It was like a scene in a movie; it didn’t seem real. The man kicked her.
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She was thinking about what she would say when the time came.
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He tried to regain that moment of grace, but there was no conjuring it.
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Lindy knew what happens in the dark behind shut doors: girls tell stories.
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The clown has taken a seat at our veranda table in absolute silence.
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