Go at her

I

got her letter way too late. The date was postmarked months back, and the edges of the envelope were bent and covered with mud.

Still, I recited the address as I pounded it into my phone and drove straight there, hoping to

find her, hoping to find the man who must have been taking advantage of her.

I banged on the door with the chain I took with me at times wrapped around my knuckles.

A tall skinny man with dark circles around his eyes answered. “Damn, calm down. What you want?”

“I’m looking for Winona.”

“I didn’t tell her she could have anyone over,” he drawled.

It was all the confirmation I needed. Taking a step forward, I swung at him, and the chain links shattered his jaw. He flailed back, screaming in surprise. Clattering came from a hallway behind him.

Winona stood there, a ripped black shirt hanging from her shoulder and jeans that showed too much

of her waistline hugged her hips. She’d filled out and lost weight too. Her high cheekbones were hollowed out, just like the ga