Keith Russell, Indie’s cousin from Poughkeepsie, was eighteen and was spending the summer with his aunt and uncle. He was really tall, or he seemed so to me at the time, and thin, with a bulging pointed Adam’s apple that bobbed when he talked. His hair was thick and brown and hung over his bushy eyebrows. His teeth were too big for his mouth, and shiny red spots covered his chin. But he was nice to me and Indie. He liked to play with us in the yard, pushing us on the swings or chasing us in a game of tag. When he’d catch us, he’d grab us from behind and lift us high in the air. It was strange that he was coming through the woods. I’d heard him tell his aunt that he was going to the movies when I showed up at their door earlier. Maybe he changed his mind, I thought, and we were glad to see him as we had run through all our usual routines and were looking for something to do. Keith beckoned to us from the trees, and we eagerly climbed through the hole in the chain-link fence.

“Let’s go get ice cream,” he’d said, and led us through the woods to his car, which was parked on the next street. The lure of adventure and ice cream trumped all worry about running off without letting anybody know. And it was Keith. He must’ve told Indie’s mom.

I remember everything clearly as we rode through the street in Keith’s rusted blue car, the windows rolled down and hot, dusty air blowing over us. He gave us each a warm bottle of orange soda, and we drank eagerly. He had the radio on, and the song that was playing is forever the backdrop of that fateful ride. A ride into a new life, something that could never be undone. But, at the time, I anticipated a strawberry sundae topped with lots of whipped cream. I remember looking back over my shoulder as the ice cream parlor faded into the distance.

“You missed it, Keith,” Indie said. “It’s back there.” She’d stood up on tiptoe and was pointing. We were both crowded onto the passenger’s seat up front. He yanked her top to get her to sit back down but kept his eyes on the road.

“Keith!” Indie shouted, her long dark hair sweaty and tangled.

“I’ll turn around in a minute. Sit still. Drink your soda.” His voice had become strange, so we sat, our little thighs sticking together in the heat, and wondered what we’d done wrong. Obediently, we sipped our drinks, and the hot day began to grow woozy around me.