Louie wasn't expecting her until late tomorrow morning. She drove past the darkened house where he lived with Hazel and the girls, and drove on up the rutted dirt road to the old farmhouse at the head of the holler, grateful that it was dry. It was obvious the road hadn't been graded in a long time, and she never would have made it in her Corolla is it had been the least bit wet. As it was, she could hear the bottom of the car scrape the center ridge of the road more than once, and sent up a little prayer on behalf of her muffler.

The gate to the pasture was open, and she cautiously drove through, onto the track through the pasture to the yard. The pasture was completely overgrown and it was clear there was no cow pasturing there. The gate to the house was also standing open, but Sharon felt compelled to stop short of driving into the yard. She turned off the ignition and got out of the car, gazing at the old, weathered farmhouse in the bright light of the moon. Abiram jumped down from the open car door as she stood, and twined around her ankles.

She had no legal right to be here, and found herself regretting for the first time her decision to sign over her interest to Billy in the midst of her hurt, grief, and feelings of betrayal. Still, she knew she belonged here, and knew she had the right to be where she was standing just now, under a late July moon.

Abiram bit her ankle, softly enough to leave no mark, but certainly enough to get her attention. She dug her sleeping bag out of the trunk, walked through the gate, past the lilac, green now with the blooms long gone, and made herself a pallet on the front porch between Callies and Cathy's rocking chairs. She crawled into the sleeping bag and listened for a few minutes to the chorus of cicadas, hoping - half expecting - to hear the sound of a flute wafting from the ridge behind the house.

Within minutes she was sound asleep. Abiram had curled up at the back of her knees. As soon as he heard her faint snores, he rose and jumped down lightly off the porch.