The car crunching up the gravel turned out to be Zan on a golf cart. Carts had become a popular way to get around Last End; at one time, it'd been bikes, but as our folks aged into osteoporosis and macular degeneration, rheumatoid arthritis and spinal stenosis, as well as all the fallout of trick riding and trapeze, human cannonballing and contorting -- and we grew up, moved away, and traded bicycles for Acuras -- carts became ride of choice, with a few exceptions: X-The-Thing on his Segway, and the Shys’ riding motor.

Zan rode up the drive, the crunching turning to grinding as the wheels spun over the loose, finer crushed rock, closer to the house. I watched through a gap in the front curtains, staying perfectly still.

When she stopped the cart, she sat and looked at the house f...

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