Marsha held me by both of my shoulders. She stood over me and shook me awake, saying we needed to get dressed and leave before the "men" came. This was quite typical; her mind was going; but, I knew to entertain her for fear of her becoming enraged. Before I could collect our shoes, she dragged me by my hand down the stairs and outside through the backdoor. She pulled me aggressively through the yard and into the side field, the late spring frost crunching beneath our bare feet.
When we crested a high spot in our hay field, I jerked my hand loose and started to reassure her of actual conditions. Though, when I turned to make reference back to our farmhouse I spotted the lone van in the drive, its lights off.
We ran into the woodline, far into the hills, and kept running within the concealment of the early morning's damp darkness. We never went back; we never spoke of the house and the life we had there.
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