The sky cracked open just as I arrived.

Not a gentle drizzle-the kind of downpour that felt cleansing, urgent. The kind that reminds you nothing stays buried forever.

Inside the unfinished lodge, voices of different women echoed against plywood walls. The smell of wet sawdust clung to the air.

Leona was already there.

She stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the storm beat against the glass.

"Did You drive through that mess?" she asked.

"Didn't want to cancel the ...