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Summary
He meets the girl on the first, butter yellow day of summer, three months before she dies. The afternoon is melting towards evening when she appears at the sagging fence around his property, white sneakers stained red with dust, her knees knobbly as a child’s. Behind her, the sycamores bristle with readiness for the season, their shade dense and creek-water cool. Panting at her side is the dog. Daryl squints at the pair from inside his workshop, and stands up slowly, his arms wet and cloudy with clay to the elbows, his right leg stiff from crouching.