The trick, of course, was simply self-discipline. She ignored the lost orange and lettuce, the same way she ignored the rain dripping from her eyelashes and the squish of water in her shoes. Her arms and shoulders were trying to fall off, groaning from the combined weight of the groceries, her purse, her laptop and her briefcase of references-but she’d carried heavier than this on the trek home from the metro, and she would again. She was mighty. She was strong. Sometimes.

She forged ahead the next half block, reminding herself of all the reasons she’d loved living in Foggy Bottom these last nine months. She loved her current work project. She was crazy about the old brownstone apartment. She loved the urban neighborhood-how easy it had been to find other young professional people and make friends. She loved having access to such a super metro system that she didn’t need a car. She loved…

The soggy grocery sack suddenly split. It didn’t completely crack open, just tore several inches, but that was enough to send more groceries spilling down the street. Again, Sophie was tempted to let out a good, bellowing yell. Instead, she ran.

Six more houses. Then five. The sleazy-cold rain had already soaked her blond head, slivered down her neck. Four houses. She could see hers ahead-the old brown brick with white shutters, the wrought-iron fence circling a yard the size of a closet, the broken steps up to the elegant old front door.

Her foot stumbled on a sidewalk crack. Her armload threatened to tumble completely. She ran faster, praying now. Three houses. Two. She prayed to God. To Buddha. To Mother Nature. To anyone who could help her just move those last few steps, inside to shelter.

One house away, then home. Up the three steps. Belatedly, she realized that the key was buried inside her purse-which she couldn’t possibly get to, not without dropping everything. But then she discovered that just possibly there was a God, because the front door was open.