PROLOGUE
The front porch of the Victorian house provides the only relief from the afternoon sun. The threat of a thunderstorm will only make the heat worse, and the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia hunkers down to wait out the summer of 1977. Likewise, the three teenagers who sit sprawled on the porch in various states of heat prostration.
“Can it get any hotter?” Kate asks, her voice taking on just the slightest hint of a whine.
“Don’t say that.” Paul watches a fly take a desultory stroll across his forearm.
“Bet it’s hotter than this in Arizona,” Mike comments.
“But it’s a dry heat,” Paul and Kate say in unison. Paul looks down at Kate and they grin at each other.
No one on that porch doubts Paul Armstrong will be in Phoenix next summer. He is the golden boy of Staunton High School’s baseball team. Making it to the majors isn’t a pipe dream for Paul. His self-confidence will make it happen.
Kate groans as she raises her head from Paul’s lap.
“Where’re you going, Ms. Moran?” Paul asks, his fingers closing around her wrist.
“Get more tea.”
“Ya gotta kiss me first.”
“It’s too hot,” she moans, but they all know she doesn’t mean it.
Both boys watch Kate’s walk to the front door. Her cutoffs are short and her legs are long. Mike silently sings the praises of summer. The screen door slaps closed behind her and, for a few seconds, the relentless drone of the cicadas is silenced.
Mike feels a rivulet of sweat trickle down the nape of his neck. He looks over at his best friend. “How’d you get so lucky?” he asks.
Paul slouches lower in the porch swing, setting off a gentle rocking motion. “It’s that Armstrong charm.”
Mike snorts and shifts in the wicker armchair.
“Hey, we both had an equal shot at her.” Paul’s voice holds the hint of a shrug. “She picked me.”
Mike remembers it differently, but says, “Yeah. I guess she’s not as smart as she looks.”
“I heard that, Michael Fitzgerald,” Kate states, pushing open the screen door.
“Heard what?” Mike asks innocently.
Kate perches on the porch railing and rolls the cool glass across her forehead.
“You know I love you both. Just different.”
“Please don’t give me that ‘I love you like a brother’ routine. It wounds me,” Mike says in what he hopes passes for mock pain.
The glass at her lips, Kate rolls her eyes at him then closes them and tilts her head back to take a long drink.
Her thick auburn hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, but a few heat-damp strands cling to her neck. Mike wants to lift them, blow on her hot skin. He wants to put his mouth there and taste her. The thought brings on the beginning of an erection and he guiltily glances at Paul.
When Mike sees those amused hazel eyes looking back at him he knows he’s been caught.