colonial with a tall, pointy roof, white siding and green shutters. Its trim needed to be sanded and repainted, and their blacktop driveway lay cracked and in chunks, tufts of grass waving in the gentle breeze. A lone bedraggled pot of red geraniums decorated the front steps, which creaked as Cory and I mounted them. The garage door stood open, an enormous collection of junk inside, including what looked to be a wheelchair and a walker.
Cory hit the doorbell. No one responded. I hadnât heard a doorbell ring on the other side of the door.
âI think itâs broken.â I rapped my knuckles on a pane of glass next to the door.
Moments later, a sixtyish woman in a pink velour jogging suit shuffled into the hallway. She squinted at me through the window and opened the door halfway. I noticed she had fuzzy pink rabbit slippers on her feet. One rabbit had lost half his ear. The other, his plastic eyeball.
âCan I help you?â
Cory took the lead, naturally. âAre you Mrs. Potter?â
âYes.â
Cory held out the yearbook, face down, most likely because Brennanâs name was embossed in gold on the front cover. âElizabethâs mother?â
Mrs. Potter wrinkled her brow. âYes.â
âExcellent. My name is Cory and this is Jolene. Elizabethâs twentieth class reunion is coming up soon, and weâd like to speak with her. The alumni association is forming a committee to plan the reunion. We wondered if she might like to get involved.â
She opened the door up all the way. âElizabeth lives in Binghamton now. I can give you her address and phone number if you like. You could call her.â Mrs. Potter sounded doubtful, as though calling Elizabeth wouldnât do much good. âWait here.â
She scuffed over to a table, extracted a sheet of paper and pen, and jotted down the information.
I accepted the piece of paper when she returned to the door. âDoes Elizabeth have a family?â
Mrs. Potter rubbed her chest. âMarried and divorced. Twice. Sheâs dating a boy now.â
I smiled as though that were wonderful news. âDo you think Elizabeth would enjoy working on the planning committee?â
âHonestly, honey, Elizabeth doesnât even like to come to visit. This town has bad memories for her.â
âIâm sorry to hear that. I didnât know.â
Mrs. Potter nodded. âWe kept it quiet. Elizabeth had a car accident after your classâs five-year reunion. It took her years to learn to walk again. She had to have all kinds of reconstructive surgery.â She pointed to the book in Coryâs hand. âSheâs not that girl in the yearbook picture anymore.â
I tried to smile sympathetically. âNow that you mention it, I remember something about that crash. Wasnât Brennan Rowe the driver in that accident?â
She stiffened. âIt wasnât his fault. He was a good boy.â
I exchanged a look with Cory. âI would have thought youâd be angry with him. Didnât the police think he was driving under the influence?â
Mrs. Potter waved the suggestion off. âElizabeth was asleep when the crash occurred, but she said none of them were drunk.â
Hard to know if her statement was true or if the âkidsâ had kept their vices hidden from their parents. âDoes Elizabeth still see Brennan?â
âNo, he moved away years ago. He sends a Christmas card every year, though.â
A dog barked and snarled behind us. Startled, I turned to find a miniature brown and black Doberman straining at its leash, held by a white-haired man in a navy jogging suit and white sneakers.
âBill, this is â¦â Mrs. Potter broke off, frowning.
âCory.â He shook Mr. Potterâs hand.
âJolene.â Mr. Potterâs hand felt like ice. I wondered how long he and the dog had been walking, but now I knew who had eaten Mrs. Potterâs bunny
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