But then, the whole town of Fulton didn’t seem to be much bigger than that—what Zoe could see of it in the dark, at least. Cal pulled the truck and trailer into a long driveway. “Hang on,” he told her as he hopped down. He was hustling around the front of the truck, pulling her door open. “Careful,” he said. “Snow, and you’re not dressed for it.” He took her hand to help her down, then reached inside for her laptop bag, slung it over his shoulder. “Okay. Watch your step.” He led her across the plowed driveway, up concrete steps that had been shoveled once, were dusted again now by the still-falling snow, to the front door of a neat one-story ranch-style home, illuminated by a porch light that cast a yellow glow over a semicircle of brick siding. He knocked his snowy boots against the wall, gave them a scrape across the mat, then opened the front door and called out, “Hey, Mom!” Zoe followed him into a tiny entryway.
