Julian even kept our car because it was registered under his company.
“You’ll manage,” he told me from the porch. “You’ve always been good at being alone.”
Across the road, my neighbor watched everything.
Garrison Blackwood was known around Cedar Hollow as the quiet former sheriff who lived alone in an aging farmhouse with an old dog.
He rarely spoke.
But after Julian drove away, Garrison crossed the street.
“Do you have somewhere safe to stay tonight?”
“I can find a motel.”
“No,” he replied. “You have a room at my place.”
“I don’t want charity.”
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