Summer Azhdaha lived in an old farmhouse. Off the beaten path, the place was a good dozen miles from the nearest town. Dale parked his car in the gravel driveway and walked up onto the wide porch that wrapped from the front of the house all the way around the right-hand side. Late August sunshine baked the wooden boards and the soles of Dale’s feet felt the heat even through his sneakers. Riadh stood at Dale’s side as Dale knocked on the front door.
In a couple minutes it was opened by an older woman dressed in a battered pair of jeans and a t-shirt that bore the logo—Same s**t Different Day. She had curly graying hair and a cigarette hung between her fingers. “I hope you’re in the mood for something new.”
“I guess.”
“Come on in.”
Dale and Riadh followed her back to the kitchen. Dale a
