Gaby dropped a twenty beside her plate of uneaten pancakes and hurried out of the Sunshine Café. Reading the unexpected note her waitress, Helen, had given her raised all of her old fears. She rushed across the road fronting Woodson Falls’ small shopping area, making her way over the town green to Center Cemetery, where she could reflect on the note in peace and quiet. The oldest cemetery in Berkshire County, Center held the remains of men who had fought in the Civil War, the Revolutionary War, and as far back as the French and Indian Wars. The engravings on the thin, weathered stones were barely visible.

After what had happened to her and Joe in the city, Gaby had returned to Woodson Falls to escape the memories. The sense of community and tradition here made her feel safe. Things like how the members of the town’s Veterans Association had planted small American flags on the graves of the fallen men in this cemetery just a month ago, before Memorial Day. They’d be removed after Veterans Day in November, then stored until the following May.

Gaby sat on the stone wall surrounding the cemetery and gazed out toward Woodson Lake and the sparkling waterfall tucked into its far corner. A breeze scattered the dry leaves left from last autumn. She fingered the scar that ran from her left eye and along her cheek, usually hidden by the fall of her long black hair, as she reread the note the stranger had left for her:

When Gaby first spotted the strange man eating at the café counter a few months ago, she thought he looked familiar. She had only caught a glimpse of the tall, dark-haired man who had attacked her and her husband Joe after they left their favorite restaurant, where they had celebrated Joe’s success in landing a big advertising account. As they strolled down the sidewalk arm-in-arm, heading toward their New York apartment, a man wielding a knife killed Joe and slashed Gaby’s face. Then he jumped into the driver’s seat of a white van and took off down the street. The police never caught him.