The anger she felt at the possibility was another confirmation, to Catherine’s mind, of her own arrogance. She rinsed out her mouth with unnecessary force.

Of course, she brooded, she had reacted drastically to her parents’ deaths. Who wouldn’t? Especially when that loss was simultaneously double, untimely, and violent. A period of grief; natural, expected.

But people had begun to wonder-she had seen it in their faces, in their careful selection of topics-when the way she lived, holed up in her family home, became permanent. No invitations in, no invitations out. And by the time she realized how she had isolated herself, she had gotten used to it.

I’ve been working on it, she thought defensively.

The terrible jolts of the day before had shown her how far she had come and how far she had to go.

Like an arrogant fool, I didn’t think anyone else would ever hold it to my discredit, she told her reflection silently (she was by now putting on her makeup).

Catherine glared at the mirror and made a horrendous crazy face at herself.

But Randall likes me, she reminded herself.

She picked delicately at the edges of that undeniable fact, half frightened. She mulled over the unexpected feeling that had passed between them.

Then she scolded herself, You’re mooning like a fifteen-year-old. And she smoothed her face out and gave the mirror her best, her Number One, smile. It had been a long time since she had used it; it made her cheeks ache.

Instead of donning a long-ago boyfriend’s football jersey, which lay at the top of the pile, she rooted deep in a drawer and pulled out something that fit quite a bit better.

The bells of the Baptist church were pealing for the eleven-o’clock service as she put in her earrings.

The church bell chimed in with the doorbell. Catherine opened the front door uncertainly, half doubtful she had heard it.