A very short twenty-four hours ago in a cute and messed up town in Vermont...

How weird to stand in the foyer at Petunia's and not hear a peep. So quiet, so still, mid-December sunlight streaming in the windows, the peaceful emptiness of a place so rarely without occupants making me a bit nostalgic for my childhood.

I'd spent so many summers helping my grandmother here, Iris Fleming's particular way of doing things, her dry sense of humor, her careful ...