I watched him swallow the little white pill, and a cold draft seemed to pass through the sunny parking lot.
The dining room at the stone mansion on Oakridge Drive was large enough to feel chilly even with the heating vents open. I smoothed my wool skirt as I stood by the sideboard, wishing I had worn my thick beige cardigan instead of the thin blue blouse I had purchased for the occasion.
Garrett stood beside me, his crooked smile resting on his face, though I noticed he kept his left hand deep in his trousers pocket. He was seventy-two, but in the dim light of the dining room, he looked like the boy who had walked me home in the rain so many years ago.
At exactly seven o’clock, a pair of headlights swept across the floral wallpaper, followed by the muffled hum of an engine shutting down in the driveway.
I took a deep breath, smoothing my hands flat against my lap for a second before I stood up to join Garrett in the foyer.
