Marine Returns From Okinawa to Find Her Bungalow Already Sold
The driver caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “Traffic is backing up on the bridge,” he said, gesturing toward the line of brake lights ahead.
“Take the bypass,” I said. “I have a stop to make first.”
We pulled into the gravel lot of Miller’s Hardware fifteen minutes later. Sarah’s blue Ford F-150 was parked near the loading dock, the bed loaded with rolls of silt fencing. She was tying down a yellow strap when she saw the taxi.
She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand as I got out. “Maria,” she said, stepping forward to pull me into a quick, dusty hug. “I did not expect you back until tomorrow.”
“The flight out of California got bumped up,” I said. “Have you seen my dad?”
Sarah let go of the strap and looked down at her work boots. “Not since Friday. But I saw a big yellow moving van backed up to your driveway on Maggie Street last Tuesday.”
My hand went to my collar, adjusting the stiff fabric. “A moving van? I did not order any work done inside.”
