chances of a golfer being killed by lightning were one in a million. The thing no one thought about was that one fatality. For him, the odds were overwhelming.
People said it was a blessing that her grandfather had died doing something he loved, and that it was a blessing to go instantly, feeling no pain, no fear. Just a quick cosmic wink, and no more Grandpa. Kim understood that they were only trying to make her feel better. She even tried to accept the blessing explanation. But for the life of her, she couldn’t buy into the concept.
After that, she used to beg her father to take her to games, but he was always too busy. She went on her own, taking the bus or subway to Shea Stadium or Madison Square Garden. Going to a game made her feel closer to her grandfather, even when she was on her own. Caught up in the high excitement of the contest, she missed him just a tiny bit less. Sometimes it even made the terrible ache of loss ease up, if only for a few minutes.
Lying there, remembering, she made a vow. Her love of sports was a gift from her grandfather, and there was no way she’d let Lloyd Johnson or anyone take it away.
It was tempting to turn her back on the light trickling in through the bedroom window, to pull the covers over her head and fall asleep. For days or months. Forever.
Unfortunately, every time she shut her eyes, she caught herself thinking about the night in L.A. Intellectually, she knew the problem was Lloyd, not her. Yet when she replayed the scene over and over in her head, she kept wondering if she might have done something differently, if she could have said the right thing, maybe the disaster would have been averted. As soon as she felt her thoughts heading in that direction, she gave herself a mental shake. She was not to blame for Lloyd’s ego and his nasty temper.
“All righty, then,” she said, flinging back the quilt. She caught a glimpse of her long red hair in the mirror over the dresser. Yikes. “On that note, we’ll get up and see what the day brings.”
She went downstairs to find a stranger in the kitchen, with the countertop TV playing cartoons. Well, not exactly a stranger. One of her mother’s boarders, Daphne McDaniel. Kim would have to get used to seeing strangers around the house.
“Wow, that takes me back,” said Daphne, turning down the volume as she eyed Kim’s Camp Kioga sweatshirt. “Coffee?”
“Thanks.” Kim accepted the steaming mug and took a grateful sip. She was wearing the ancient jeans and camp hoodie, thick socks and Crocs her mother had given her yesterday. Prior to coming downstairs, she’d hastily washed the sleep from her face and pulled her long red hair into a ponytail. “These clothes are left over from … a hundred years ago. That’s what it feels like, anyway. I, um, traveled light, coming here.” All her worldly possessions were in L.A., most of them in a storage unit off Manhattan Beach Boulevard. She’d given up her apartment in order to be with Lloyd. She would have everything shipped to her eventually, but she didn’t want to think about that just now.
She had a funny urge to unload on Daphne, although they’d only just met. A girl needed her girlfriends. In her world—former world—friends and enemies blended together and morphed from one role to the other. There was even a word for it—frenemies. You couldn’t always trust them. It struck Kim that she didn’t have many friends. There were coworkers, sure. But there was no one she could point to and say, this is my friend. She hoped Daphne would turn out to be more genuine.
“I’m going to need to run into town to grab a few things,” she said.
“Try Zuzu’s Petals in the town square. Best shop there is.”
Kim used to shop in boutiques haunted by movie stars in floppy hats, and women with more money than common sense. She now counted herself a member of that group and vowed to change. “Thanks. Did you go to Camp Kioga when you were younger?”
Daphne laughed, but not with humor. “Honey, I was never younger. FYI, I’m having my childhood now, because I missed it the first time around.”
Kim stirred a partial packet of Splenda into the coffee. She sneaked a peek at Daphne, who was sitting on a bar stool at the kitchen island, eating FrankenBerry cereal from a bright yellow bowl. With daring facial piercings and pink-streaked hair, she looked like a punk rocker. In contrast to Kim’s buffed-and-polished L.A. friends, Daphne was refreshing—quirky, but genuine.
Daphne fished a clear plastic packet out of her cereal bowl. “Yes,” she said. “I got the prize. I love when I get the prize.”
Given the type of cereal she was eating, she wasn’t likely to have much competition.
She wiped the toy on a napkin. “Troll doll,” she said, holding it up like a tiny trophy. “God, I love these things.”
Kim touched her hair, feeling an uneasy kinship with the troll. Then she lifted her coffee mug in salute. “Here’s to enjoying your childhood.”
“On the weekends, at least.”
“What do you do during the week?” She pictured Daphne working at a roller rink or surfing the internet, bookmarking anime sites.
“I work in a local law office. It’s up over the bookstore in town. It’s okay. I prefer Saturdays, though. Back-to-back Looney Tunes, you know?”
Kim offered a bright smile. “My fave. So, a law office?”
“Parkington, Waltham & Shepherd. A full-service firm. I’m the receptionist and office manager.” Daphne lifted the bowl to her mouth and took a sip, leaving a milk mustache. “So, really, you can relax. Your mom’s not running a group home for wackos here. The tenants are just regular folks, who happen to want to live simply.”
“I’m relaxed,” Kim protested.
“Nah, I saw your face when your mom introduced us. You were worried I’d turn out to be a one-woman freak show,” Daphne said easily. “Most people do, when they first meet me. Trust me, I’m totally normal. Just—like I said—having a late childhood. In my family, I was the eldest of five siblings. My mom got sick and my dad took off, so I ended up raising my brothers and sisters. I did a lousy job, too, seeing as I was all of eleven years old when it started. That’s why I never want to have kids. Heck, I don’t even want to have a place of my own.”
“Because you missed out on your childhood?”
“Yeah.” Daphne took her bowl and spoon to the sink, and grabbed a pitcher of orange juice. “I decided to have my childhood now, and that means living here, where I don’t need to worry about adult responsibilities. Those responsibilities include, but are not limited to, property taxes, utility bills, meal preparation and long-term commitments.”
Kim stared at her for a few seconds. She studied the black wool leggings, the snug leather skirt and Doc Martens, the black manicure. Daphne just looked so comfortable, being herself.
“Good plan,” she said. “Is there any orange juice left?”
Daphne poured her a glass. “Cereal?” she asked, offering the box.
“No, thanks. Without the prize, what’s the point?”
Daphne grinned. “I like the way you think.”
Kim grinned back, liking the ease she felt with this girl.
“Good morning,” said her mother, bustling into
