The Osage, a tributary of the Missouri, is over two hundred miles long. Bonnie remembers AP Geography class, tracing her fingers over the map and wondering how a body could travel so far and still remember where to return.
Slowly, her senses float into awareness. Soft sunlight and the whisper of trees fill the windows, and she is wrapped in sheets smelling faintly of lemon verbena, comfortable and cool under an old-fashioned ceiling fan.
Downstairs, Bonnie can hear someone moving around a kitchen, the sound of pots, oil sizzling in a pan. Soon the delicious aroma of fresh coffee wafts up to her room.
It’s so calm and surreal she almost forgets why she’s here.