April 3rd, 1998, 6:14 P.M.

The ice cream cake has been moved to the fridge, the dinner plates cleared away. A girl, now seven, steps out to her side porch and down a stone path to her faded blacktop driveway. No shoes. The driveway is long—always longer than she thinks—but she walks slowly, her feet picking up stray blades of brown grass from . . .