She stared at it.
“What is this for?”
“Thread on your hot dog like this,” he said, taking one and poking the stick in lengthwise. “Then we hold it over the fire to cook.”
“You’re kidding.”
She watched a moment then with an air of determination followed suit and soon had her own hot dog cooking over the flames.
“When they’re done, we’ll pull them off in the bun, top with condiments and have a feast,” he said, suiting actions to words.
Munching on the hot dog a few minutes later, Kirk watched Angelica eat. She was dainty, testing each mouthful as if uncertain.
“Don’t like hot dogs?”
“I don’t eat them much,” she said, taking another bite. She nodded. “These are good.”
Kirk couldn’t remember having someone over to camp out while the power was gone. Usually he would either eat alone, or head out to the café which had a generator for situations like this.
“This is fun,” she said with a hint of surprise.
“Tell me how the lesson went.”
She nodded, still chewing. Then she swallowed and smiled.
“He’s surprisingly good. It’s not what I would have started him on, but I guess Webb Francis thought he could do it. I think I learned more than he did. Practice might have him ready for the festival. I followed him, let the music take hold and was able to play along. Just what I came down here for. I didn’t know my first foray would be with a little boy. We played Granny Does Your Dog Bite, know it?”
“Of course.”
He moved back and leaned against the front of the sofa, stretching his feet out.
“That was nice of you, New York, to help him.”
She finished her hot dog, put down the plate and scooted back to sit beside him. It was too warm to sit very close to the fire. The rain had cooled things down, but not that much.
“I liked it. Which surprised me. I’m an only child and have never been around children.”
“Except when you were one,” he said.
“Not much then—except in school. I had to practice in the afternoons.”
“Why?”
“I was a child prodigy and my parents wanted me to make the most of my talent.”
“So what was that like?”
Angelica began telling him a bit about growing up in Boston. The more Kirk heard, the more he thought of deprivation and lack. She didn’t appear to have had the kind of childhood he’denjoyed—roaming around, exploring things, hanging out with his friends. Even getting into trouble with some wild hijinks.
Instead, she painted a picture of a little girl and later a teenager who did little but study academics and the violin. She mentioned different recitals and programs she played in. Maybe if he knew more, he’d be impressed, but mostly he felt the lack.
“Doesn’t that wear on you? When did you go to the beach with friends, shop at the mall, explore historic Boston?”
“No time.”
She shrugged, then flicked him a quick glance before looking back at the fire.
“That’s why I’m here. I want to see what else is out in the real world.”
