The road wound over a hill past the abandoned gravel pit, and ended a quarter mile into the woods where the firs parted around the old sawmill grounds... I wondered whether the ghost of Karen Andersen still strolled through here some September evenings. High mounds of sawdust were piled along the west edge of the mill lake. The old flume, gray and weathered, jutted into the air where it wasn’t resting on the slope of the highest sawdust pile. I kicked at a rusty Pepsi can peppered with buckshot. "I have no idea," Jenny said rather tiredly, as she had had a bad day at school. "This next week will be my first anniversary of my decision to become a photographer, " Ted announced. Jenny woke up. "Wow," she said, "That's big, isn't it?" You don't know the half of it, " he said, not expecting her to hear him. "Congratulations, I think," she said. "Thank you, of course!" Ted said. "I'd like to celebrate. I have a gift for you and Reina, and I'd like to do a special shoot next week with you two. More

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