Page 11 of Easton

The GPS in my Range Rover directs me to turn left, then drive straight ahead about twenty yards.

Shit, I’m here.

Claire has a cute little place—a bungalow-style structure that sits back from the road. Not that she’s on a busy street or anything. The area is basically a small suburban neighborhood.

It seems pretty quiet, too, as there’s no one around.

Still, I better pull over and park.

I do exactly that, and then I cut the engine.

Now I’m a little nervous.

I look in the rearview mirror as I rake my fingers through my messy dark blond hair. Maybe I should have gotten a trim first. At least I shaved.

Yeah, all nice and smooth.

I also made sure to wear my nicest faded jeans and a dark blueT-shirt that my last girlfriend told me really brings out the color of my eyes.

Hey, she seemed to like it.

Maybe Claire will too.

Okay, enough stalling.

I hop out of my SUV and stride up to Claire’s front door. With no hesitation, I ring the doorbell.

The nerves are dissipating. I’m now feeling pretty confident and beyond pumped to see my old friend.

But unfortunately, no one is coming to the door.

I try knocking, but still, there’s nothing.

Fuck.

She must not be home.

My big plans are a bust.

I walk away and get back in my vehicle.

But I’m not deterred.

On the way back home, I think about when I should try this again—tomorrow, later today?

As I reach my house, I notice there’s a dark gray Toyota sports car parked out front. It’s one of those GR86 models. They look pretty fancy with the swooped hood and recessed headlights, but I don’t think they cost a whole lot.

Still, it’s nice.

But why is this mystery car parked across from my house?

There’s nothing down here besides my home. Beyond the turnaround, there’s just desert and mountainous terrain.

But, wait, there are some trails.

Maybe someone came here to hike.

I don’t know.

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