The scarf is on my bedside table when I wake up.
I put it there last night without thinking, the way you put down something you are not ready to decide about. Evelyn Vale had taken it from around her own neck and wrapped it around mine in a hospital parking lot and said words I have been turning over in my head since the bus ride home. Come for supper. Tomorrow. Seven o'clock. Adrian had been watching from the driver's seat with his jaw tight and his hands on the wheel and he had not said a word, which meant either he could not stop it or he had decided not to try, and I do not know which of those is worse.
I stand in front of the mirror longer than I need to.
The nutmeg turtleneck dress has been in the back of my wardrobe for two years. I bought it for an occasion I could never name. I
