The first time was at the news of my parents’ death in a car crash. This time it was a friend who, like my parents, I’d assumed would be around for a long time. How wrong could I be? How often? “Daisy Harmon died in the storm,” Sunni said, from another world. “I just talked to Cliff. He’s been at some kind of training program for private security forces in Springfield.” Daisy’s husband. “He’s supposed to be across the street.” He was supposed to be on hand to help her, was what I meant. Sunni gave me a strange look, perhaps the first eye contact she’d made. I saw her gaze wander toward my living room and out the door. I realized she was trying to focus on my reference to “across the street.” “I mean when I saw her on my way home, once I closed up. I figured Cliff must be at the school across from her shop.” She shook her head. “He’s been out of town since Wednesday.
