On the other hand, her pull-no-punches friend only wanted the best for
her. In fact, much as it galled her to admit it, Kimber may have been right.
The Mustang’s engine roared to life.
At least she’d come to her senses while browsing at Tiffany’s.
Maybe Kimber would accept a peace offering.
Lori edged the big pink rig free from the tight
space and out of the mall parking lot.
Kimber said it was time to start living again.
Easier said than done. She could never forget the witty, brilliant sister she’d
always wished she were more like.
And her run-of-the-mill queasiness around heights
hadn’t stormed into a full-fledged phobia until Sara had tumbled from her
hang-glider right before her eyes—and Lori hadn’t been able to save her. How
was she supposed to ‘get over’ something like that?
Belatedly turning on her blinker, Lori merged onto
the highway.
Every day, she found herself thinking, “Wait until I
call Sara and tell her–” before she remembered she was never going to call her.
Never going to hear her sister’s voice again. Ever.
Lori turned on the radio and punched her pre-set
buttons. Commercials.
She might have a radio commercial too someday if she
ever started that talent agency. Kimber accused her of being all talk and no
action. Doubted she’d even picked a name. Lori hated being read so easily.
She flicked off the radio and sighed.
Playboy magazine? Not the end of the world, but also
not for Lori.
A centerfold spread might be jumping the shark for
some people and jump-starting a flagging career for others, but Lori didn’t
want to reclaim her supermodel status.
Lori exited the highway and headed toward the
residential neighborhoods.
She wanted to help people, give guidance, be her own
woman. She wanted to start over. With her life, with her family, and with
Kimber.
Starting now.
Lori pulled onto her street and parked her car
across from her house. She unlocked the trunk and withdrew the blue box
containing beautiful pearl earrings.
Kimber never stayed angry for long. And even if she
still harbored hurt feelings, Kimber was a sucker for earrings.
Lori didn’t mind not playing fair if it meant
getting her best friend back.
She jogged up to the door and tried the handle.
Locked. Good girl.
With a smile, Lori retrieved her key and made her
way inside. She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it on the couch before
turning on a light.
The sliding glass door stood wide open.
Kimber– no. She wasn’t even going to mention it. She
was here to make up.
If Mr. Giggles had to pee outside like a wild cat,
then Mr. Giggles had to pee outside like a wild cat.
From the back bedroom, a game show audience cheered.
She grinned. Kimberley claimed to hate game
shows—claimed she only watched situational comedies. Lori would have to tease
her about this one.
“Kimber? I’m home. I brought you something.”
No response.
Had she fallen asleep?
Lori stepped into the room. TV images fluttered
eerily across the bed, and at first Lori didn’t recognize what she was seeing.
When reality permeated her horror-struck brain, she dropped the box of earrings
and started screaming.
Blood covered the bed. Slime covered the pillows.
Kimber wasn’t moving.
Half her face was gone.
Lungs seizing, Lori fumbled for the cell phone at her
waist. It clattered to the hardwood floor. She crumpled and slapped her hands
around to find it, terrified to turn on the light.
Oh no, oh no, oh no. Where was the stupid thing?
Okay. Here. Lori flipped it open and blinked at the bright display. 911. Ringing…
come on. Answer.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
For a horrible moment, Lori couldn’t speak. She
didn’t have an emergency—she had a tragedy. Kimber, dead. It was too late. She
was too late. Again. How could this be happening?
“Are you there, ma’am? Do you have an emergency?”
“I– yes. This is Lor– I’m– My best friend is dead. I
can’t think. I don’t know what happened. Her
her. In fact, much as it galled her to admit it, Kimber may have been right.
The Mustang’s engine roared to life.
At least she’d come to her senses while browsing at Tiffany’s.
Maybe Kimber would accept a peace offering.
Lori edged the big pink rig free from the tight
space and out of the mall parking lot.
Kimber said it was time to start living again.
Easier said than done. She could never forget the witty, brilliant sister she’d
always wished she were more like.
And her run-of-the-mill queasiness around heights
hadn’t stormed into a full-fledged phobia until Sara had tumbled from her
hang-glider right before her eyes—and Lori hadn’t been able to save her. How
was she supposed to ‘get over’ something like that?
Belatedly turning on her blinker, Lori merged onto
the highway.
Every day, she found herself thinking, “Wait until I
call Sara and tell her–” before she remembered she was never going to call her.
Never going to hear her sister’s voice again. Ever.
Lori turned on the radio and punched her pre-set
buttons. Commercials.
She might have a radio commercial too someday if she
ever started that talent agency. Kimber accused her of being all talk and no
action. Doubted she’d even picked a name. Lori hated being read so easily.
She flicked off the radio and sighed.
Playboy magazine? Not the end of the world, but also
not for Lori.
A centerfold spread might be jumping the shark for
some people and jump-starting a flagging career for others, but Lori didn’t
want to reclaim her supermodel status.
Lori exited the highway and headed toward the
residential neighborhoods.
She wanted to help people, give guidance, be her own
woman. She wanted to start over. With her life, with her family, and with
Kimber.
Starting now.
Lori pulled onto her street and parked her car
across from her house. She unlocked the trunk and withdrew the blue box
containing beautiful pearl earrings.
Kimber never stayed angry for long. And even if she
still harbored hurt feelings, Kimber was a sucker for earrings.
Lori didn’t mind not playing fair if it meant
getting her best friend back.
She jogged up to the door and tried the handle.
Locked. Good girl.
With a smile, Lori retrieved her key and made her
way inside. She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it on the couch before
turning on a light.
The sliding glass door stood wide open.
Kimber– no. She wasn’t even going to mention it. She
was here to make up.
If Mr. Giggles had to pee outside like a wild cat,
then Mr. Giggles had to pee outside like a wild cat.
From the back bedroom, a game show audience cheered.
She grinned. Kimberley claimed to hate game
shows—claimed she only watched situational comedies. Lori would have to tease
her about this one.
“Kimber? I’m home. I brought you something.”
No response.
Had she fallen asleep?
Lori stepped into the room. TV images fluttered
eerily across the bed, and at first Lori didn’t recognize what she was seeing.
When reality permeated her horror-struck brain, she dropped the box of earrings
and started screaming.
Blood covered the bed. Slime covered the pillows.
Kimber wasn’t moving.
Half her face was gone.
Lungs seizing, Lori fumbled for the cell phone at her
waist. It clattered to the hardwood floor. She crumpled and slapped her hands
around to find it, terrified to turn on the light.
Oh no, oh no, oh no. Where was the stupid thing?
Okay. Here. Lori flipped it open and blinked at the bright display. 911. Ringing…
come on. Answer.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
For a horrible moment, Lori couldn’t speak. She
didn’t have an emergency—she had a tragedy. Kimber, dead. It was too late. She
was too late. Again. How could this be happening?
“Are you there, ma’am? Do you have an emergency?”
“I– yes. This is Lor– I’m– My best friend is dead. I
can’t think. I don’t know what happened. Her
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