I stormed to the kitchen and threw the plate into the steel sink. It shattered into several large segments, the food splattering up the side of the basin. I sat down at the small wooden table in the alcove and began to sob, knowing very well that I was a bit too old to be throwing temper tantrums.
Sometime later Dr Grace came into the kitchen. He slid onto the bench across from me, smiling and looking around coyly, as though nothing was wrong. “I’m in the mood for a celebration,” he said.
“Really.”
“Let’s just say I believe I’ve found what I’ve been searching for.”
“And what’s that?”
“I’ll tell you if you wash your face. Your mascara is a disaster. Meet me in the dining hall. I’ll bring the libations.” He brushed his hand through my hair playfully as he left the table.
My heart jumpe
