She went one cool summer night in a vintage Thun-<br >derbird convertible， the last personal possession she<br >still owned free and clear. She started out in a rage in<br >Chicago about midnight and drove toward no partic-<br >ular destination at first. It just felt good to go， with her<br >hair whipping in the wind and the radio blasting rock<br > and roll.<br > But around four in the morning， after aimless driv-<br > ing along highways she d never known existed， Liza<br > found herself in Wisconsin just ten miles from Tyler.<br > After that， it was like automatic pilot. In the dark， she<br > drove the white car up t*o the lake and her grandfath-<br > er s lodge， which she figured would be empty， Liza<br > didn t want to see anybody. The last thing she needed<br > was a damned heart-to-heart with some well-meaning<br > family member. Or worst of all， her mother.<br > Liza just wanted to be alone.<br > The sky began to lighten as she turned into the lane<br > marked by two brick columns and started up the hill-<br > side under the canopy of century-old trees. The air was<br > hushed. Magical， really. A dreamy white mist eddied<br > upward from the lake and engulfed the car in a kind<br > of swirling cloud. <br ><br >