I didn’t know why Patricia was here. Okay, her boyfriend or fiancé or whatever he was had been an arrogant so-and-so, but she still deserved comfort.
“Patricia,” I said tentatively, “can I get you something? Fix you something warm to drink? It’s so doggone cold outside—”
Patricia shook her head and wiped her eyes with one of Marla’s tissues. She bit the inside of her cheek and scanned the counter, with its small mountain of fingerling potatoes, its bowl of brining chicken, and its jar of champagne vinaigrette. The lengthening silence was interrupted only by the ringing of Marla’s cell phone. While Marla excused herself, I put a pot of water on to boil. Marla was murmuring into her phone out in the hall. After a moment she poked her head back into the kitchen.
“I need to get across town,
