Erica Schuler had just finished cleaning up the kitchen for her mother and had come outside to the front porch to catch a bit of breeze while she waited for Herman. The summer sun, molten and all-pervading throughout the day, had begun to set, turning the big sky into a purple and orange dome over the world. Erica was sweltering, though. She had her hair pinned up, and damp tendrils stuck to the nape of her neck. As she settled back on the glider she looked around to make sure that her father and mother were nowhere about, and then kicked off her slippers and folded up the hem of her rose-colored, light cotton sundress, to expose her knees to the gentle breeze. She heard Herman’s motorcycle long before she saw it. The dog, panting as it lay on its side on the porch, began to thump its tail against the floorboards. Finally, Erica saw the motorcycle’s single headlight, bouncing like a firefly, as Herman made his way along the rutted dirt turnoff that led from the main road to the Schuler farmhouse.
