An hour later, the bus began its slow, winding descent into Sutton. In places along the narrow road, Lisa looked down off sheer cliffs to the city below. She held on, tense, sure that the big Greyhound would at any second slide off the road and tumble in slow motion through space until it crashed onto a street below and exploded like a dropped whiskey bottle. She glanced at Mrs. Turner, who sat stiff, expressionless, staring straight ahead. She wanted to strangle the old turkey for being so irritably calm at a time like this.
Sutton was set in a river valley between steep limestone hills. In places, gray and white bluffs stood up out of the trees like abstract sculptures, some of the pillars of rock looking like gigantic cocks. As the bus neared the base of the hill, entering Sutton, Lisa stared up at the skyscrapers of limestone. She felt uneasy. At any moment, she thought, those ominous pillars of stone could come avalanching down and crush the city. Then the sun, which had been blazing all morning, disappeared behind a dirty rag of clouds, and Lisa shivered. Even her usually warm toes turned cold, and she slipped into her shoes, wondering whether choosing to come to Sutton had been wise. There was something about the city, something cold and dangerous. She could feel it, even though the bus hadn't yet crossed the city limits.