I was ten when Lucy and her family moved in next door. It was winter and although I had seen her, we hadn't really been able to play together. She went to public school where my father was a teacher and I went to St. Augustine’s, the Catholic parish school. We didn't get together until summer. I asked her to take a walk. I always walked then; in the summer I often walked ten miles or so a day. Our street was a dead-end and stopped two doors up with the McKay's house. It was quiet and there were woods and empty fields nearby. I wandered everywhere unafraid. Lucy's mother, Marta D'Angelo, wouldn't allow Lucy to walk in the woods or the fields unless an adult was present. My parents didn't care. The only rules were that I should be home for meals, do all my homework and help around the house when asked.