The night was black and hot with high summer, and the cicadas along the river were screaming as if they knew what was about to happen.
Evona had to turn on the radio to drown out their cries, but still the music wasn’t enough; they were too loud, so she snapped it back off in frustration.
Then she was glad to be aggravated by such a thing as screaming night bugs; lately she had been moving through life like a ghost, in such a daze that she barely noticed if it was day or night or if she had even combed her hair. Perhaps the notion of getting Justin back was already opening her up actually to hear and see and taste again. She felt as if she were coming awake, the way a tree must feel when its leaves bud out just enough to drink the spring air.
