The root cellar under the oak tree is where he told her to meet. She hated the smell of dirt and potatoes, but it was cooler, and hidden from the road. So she went.
The cellar was tucked into a barren field on a farm that was reclaimed in the 70s by Heinz™ Ketchup. They sent factory women who needed to convalesce here.
Crazy women, she thought, hysterical and desperate for attention—if psychology had anything to say about it. She brushed a cobweb off her shoulder, wondering how many women had found it in this hole.