The Moving Threat

The engine ticks as I sit in the driveway, watching the sky bleed from black to gray. My hands are still wrapped around the steering wheel. I can feel the shape of my mother's face burned into the backs of my eyelids. The angle of her shoulders as she bent over that letter. The gray streak at her temple. Fifteen years and I would have known her anywhere.

I get out of the car. My legs move without permission. The gravel crunches under my heels.