Doris arrived at Joe"s house just as the last vestiges of real daylight crept behind the tree line at the edge of the pasture. Vítor"s truck was not in the garage and the house was dark, save a single light over the kitchen window. She checked her watch and decided she would wait. Grabbing a magazine from the back seat, she made a nest on the porch swing and began to read an article about sensible shoes. She was just about to the point where she would learn, once and for all the writer promised, which shoe was perfect for her, when in the distance she heard a whistle.
Silhouetted against the horizon, near the road, a man was standing next to a horse.
“Doris?” the man called out.
“Ted, is that you?” she asked, though his voice had confirmed it enough. “What are you doing out this far thi
