She elected not to find out. Whatever it was, it interested her not at all. History wasn’t her thing. It was, well, old. Old and boring. She didn’t care about the past, only the future, even though, at the moment, she had no idea what hers held. She was free to do as she pleased.

Without purpose or direction, she simply walked. This was something of a novelty for her as, per the song by that new-wave band they played on KISS FM but whose name she never remembered, nobody walked in L.A. Not that she found the experience particularly enjoyable. If anything, it merely reminded her that she was without a car. Her father, apparently, didn’t consider this a handicap, as he hadn’t offered her the use of his or suggested any alternative.

When she grew tired of walking by the same stores (or at least they all looked the same to her), she turned around. Glancing at her watch, she saw that barely an hour had gone by. This seemed to her impossible, as her journey felt interminable, especially as it had resulted in the discovery of nothing of interest. But it was true. It was just after eleven, too early for lunch, and yet her day already felt as if it were over.

She sat on a nearby bench and considered her situation. Was this to be the routine of the rest of the summer? If so, she would be forced to kill herself. There was no way she was going to survive. She opened the Diet Coke, now warm and unsatisfying, and drank as much as she could stand. Then, turning her head, she looked back the way she had come. It was all uphill. She’d neglected to notice that. Now, faced with the thought of the climb back to her father’s house, she was exhausted. Even the potential distraction provided by Nick didn’t cheer her. She needed something more than that. But what that might be—and where she would find it—she couldn’t even begin to imagine.

CHAPTER 9

“Where are the fish count reports I asked you to print out from that Channel Islands trip in March?” Ben looked into the bewildered face of the young grad student.

She shook her head. “You never asked me to print those out,” she said.

“I did!” Ben thundered. “Christ, am I the only one who gets anything done around here?”

He went into his office and slammed the door. Immediately, he was sorry. He hadn’t meant to yell at Angela like that. He hadn’t meant to yell at all. And the fish count reports weren’t important anyway, at least not at the moment. The sheephead population of San Clemente Island was going to be the same whether he had the report or not; all that mattered was that they were declining.

He leaned back in his chair and sighed deeply. What was he going to do with Caddie? Why should he have to do anything with her? It was like Carol had just dumped her on him with no instruction manual. How was he supposed to know how to be a father when he had no real experience at it, at least not with a child Caddie’s age.