In the summer of 1976 ten-year-old Kyle Edwards was one of millions of Americans who celebrated a landmark birthday for our nation. Looking back, however, Kyle realizes that summer also held a landmark death for him, that of his innocence.
A typical boy in rural Georgia, Kyle’s daily activities include helping harvest peanuts and sweet potatoes, playing in the corn fields, and riding his bike with abandon up and down the dirt road in front of his house. While out riding his bike one afternoon Kyle causes an accident when he speeds around a blind curve right into the path of an oncoming car. Veering sharply to avoid hitting him, the car flips repeatedly, coming to rest on its side. Kyle watches in horror as a bloody young woman emerges from the vehicle, stumbling toward him.
Terrified of the potential consequences of having caused the accident, Kyle flees to his house, hoping in that foolish way young kids do that if he doesn’t say anything it will all go away. And it seems to, because the woman he expects to stumble up to the door any minute never arrives. Stranger still, when he gets the courage to ride out to the accident scene the following morning there is no trace of the woman or the car. Little could Kyle possibly know that his trouble wasn’t over, it had only just begun.