By the twenty-second day, even my own excuses for Laura had started to sound spoiled.
The house on the edge of Austin, "s"Texas, looked ordinary from the curb.
That was the part I could not get past later.
Ordinary houses can hide terrible things behind clean windows, trimmed shrubs, and a mailbox standing straight at the end of the drive.
Dry leaves scraped across the concrete as I stepped out of my car.
