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until Kim felt empty—and cleansed.
    Her mother gave her a wad of Kleenex to wipe her face. Kim blotted at her eyes. “I’ll be all right. I’ve had worse injuries playing sports.”
    “But being hurt by someone you love and trust strikes deeper than any injury.” Her mother spoke softly, with a conviction that worried Kim.
    “Mom?”

    “Let’s get you settled,” her mother said, her manner suddenly brisk.
    Kim followed her mother past the front parlor—apple green—to the main vestibule—pumpkin.
    “You’ll be in the same room where you used to stay when you visited your grandparents as a little girl. Won’t that be nice? I’ve kept it virtually the same. You’ve even got a few things to wear, in the closet, so you can get comfortable. You don’t look as if you’ve gained a pound since high school.”
    Living in L.A., Kim hadn’t dared gain an ounce. And still, as a size six, she had felt like a linebacker next to most other women out there. She liked how comfortable her mother seemed in her own skin here.
    In this huge, quiet house filled with so many childhood memories, Kim entered the world of her past. The second-story hallway made a T in the center; to the right lay Kimberly’s domain. As the only grandchild, she’d had the wing all to herself.
    “What’s that face?” her mother asked.
    “I’m not making a face.”
    “Yes, you are. You’re making the defeated face,” her mother insisted.
    “Well, look at me. I’m supposed to have a fabulous life. Instead, I’m moving back in with my mother.” She paused. “Assuming that’s all right with you.”
    “All right? It’s going to be exactly what we both need. I’m sure of it. Think of this as coming full circle. It’s going to be wonderful, you’ll see.”
    What’s going to be wonderful? Kim wanted to know, but she didn’t ask.

    “I’ll run you a bath. That’ll be just the thing,” her mother said, bustling into the adjacent bathroom.
    “A bath would be heavenly,” Kim agreed.
    Hearing the rusty groan of the plumbing, she set down her bag, dropped the silk wrap on the end of the bed and finally—dear heaven, finally —took off her shoes. She spent a few minutes poking around the room, reacquainting herself with things she thought she’d forgotten—the collection of memorabilia from Camp Kioga, a rustic summer camp at the far northern end of Willow Lake. Kim had gone to camp there as a child, and as a teenager she’d worked as a counselor. Her ties to the small town were tenuous, but vivid memories stood out. Each summer she’d spent at Camp Kioga had been a magical string of endless golden days on Willow Lake, a world apart from the Upper Manhattan life she lived the rest of the year. Those ten weeks of summer had loomed large every year, shaping her as definitively as her expensive Manhattan prep school had attempted to do. The painted oar, autographed by all the girls in her cabin, brought back a rush of memories of ghost stories and giggles. The row of trophies on a shelf had belonged to a girl who was good at sports.
    She took down a gray hooded sweatshirt with the camp logo, left over from her seventeenth summer, and put it on. The oversized shirt hung down to midthigh. The soft fabric warmed her, evoking secret memories of that distant time. She hadn’t known it back then, but that had been the summer that had defined the direction her life would take. She shut her eyes, thinking about how intense everything had seemed that summer, how everything had mattered so much. She had been filled with idealism, picturing a fabuous life for herself. A life she thought she’d had—until last night.
    The gabled window offered a view of the mountains beyond the town. As a little girl visiting her grandparents, she used to curl up in the window seat and gaze outside, imagining that her future life lay somewhere beyond the horizon. As indeed it had, for a while. Now, as her mother pointed out, she’d come full circle.
    Her