Chapter 1 – Rockland County

My story begins in Rockland County, New York.

Long before I ever knew what heartbreak was.

Long before I learned that not everyone was kind.

Long before Maine.

When I think back to those early years, the memories come in little pieces, like photographs scattered across a kitchen table. Some are bright and colorful. Others have faded around the edges. Together, they tell the story of a little girl growing up in the 1960s.

It was a simpler time, or at least that's how people like to remember it.

Children played outside until the streetlights came on. We drank from garden hoses without giving it a second thought. Seat belts were optional, bicycle helmets were practically unheard of, and mothers could call you in for supper with one loud shout from the front porch.

Television was our window to the world.

Black-and-white sets filled our living rooms. We watched cartoons on Saturday mornings, variety shows at night, and the evening news while our parents quietly absorbed stories that children weren't expected to understand. Somewhere between the laughter and the headlines, America was changing.

Marilyn Monroe's smile was everywhere.

President Kennedy's face appeared on every television screen before the terrible day when the nation cried together.

The Beatles arrived.

Woodstock became the soundtrack of a generation.

Peter Max's colorful artwork found its way into bedrooms and classrooms, while Kilroy somehow managed to appear on every desk, fence, and bathroom wall imaginable.

The world seemed exciting.

It also felt safe.

At least from a child's point of view.

My mother was a nurse.

She had gentle hands, endless patience, and the remarkable ability to stay calm when everyone else was falling apart. If someone was sick, she knew exactly what to do.

Haircuts, however, were another matter.

Every few weeks, she'd pull a mixing bowl out of the kitchen cabinet.

Not to make dinner.

To cut my hair.

She'd carefully place the bowl over my head and trim around the edge as if she'd discovered the secret technique every professional hairstylist had somehow overlooked.

When she finished, she'd smile proudly.

I looked like I'd been drafted into the world's smallest army.

At the time, I didn't realize that hairstyle would make me memorable.

Children notice anything that's different.

And if they don't notice it...

Bullies will point it out.

But those days were still ahead of me.

Back then, I was simply Lori.

A little girl with scraped knees, grass stains on her clothes, a crooked bowl haircut, and a whole world waiting just beyond the next block.

I didn't know that childhood could disappear so quickly.

I didn't know that the lessons waiting for me wouldn't come from schoolbooks.

Or that one day I'd look back on Rockland County, not as the place where my story ended...

...but where it truly began.