By Linc
The town felt different when he wasn’t merely passing through. It didn’t vanish the moment he turned his back anymore. It waited.
Jack walked without a destination, hands in his jacket pockets, boots scuffing along the cracked sidewalk as late October settled into its bones. The maples along the main drag had mostly given up by now, their leaves reduced to wet scraps pressed into the pavement. The air smelled like cold metal and wood smoke. Winter wasn’t here yet, but it was close enough to make its intentions known.
He’d told Ethan he needed a day. Just one. Not to disappear – he’d been careful about that – but to think without the weight of unfinished sentences hanging between them. Ethan had nodded, the way he always did when Jack asked for something reasonable, and handed him the truck keys without commentary.
Jack wasn’t sure whether that made it easier or harder.
