The city bus dropped her off at the corner of the Hill and River Road and she walked the rest of the way up the Hill toward the house, carrying her small overnight bag. The air was crisp and cold, colder than the brisk chill of autumn, more like the beginning breath of winter before the first snow. Sunlight fell, bright and golden, through the half-naked branches of the maples which lined the walk, and the spacious lawns of the houses along the Hill were browning with the touch of frost. As she passed the Taylor house, she wondered how the barbecue had gone the night before. She could imagine how it had been, the smell of charcoal rising from the huge outdoor grill in the back yard, the hi-fi playing, the laughter and talking during dinner, the singing afterward and perhaps dancing in the living room, if the night grew too cold for people to want to stay outside. I’m glad I wasn’t here, Lynn thought. If I had been, I would have felt so left out. I’m glad I went to Anne’s. I feel as though I know her better now—and Dirk, too.
