So she stood holding a tray of tools for the dentist, the woman’s mouth stretched by the rubber mouth guards, her teeth painted brown for the laser whitening. There was nothing really to take notice of. Even in her front office role, Odilie was already used to staring down people’s throats, watching the dentist scrape tongues, hearing the loud complaints as her boss began to drill. It had become such background noise to her that sometimes, when a patient yelped in agitation, it took several attempts to break Odilie from a reverie, to pull her back to reality, to watch as Elena motioned for a patient to spit out the blood.

This woman, Odilie remembered, never once complained of pain. Though the laser could sting if patients had sensitive teeth, the only sign of any perceived discomfort was a tightened fist, delicate and birdlike, a fist that could do no damage.

The teeth whitening was her last appointment for the day, so shortly after that woman left, Odilie did, too, waving goodbye to Dr. Forsyth before he disappeared into the bathroom to change out of his scrubs. Once Odilie was outside, the air thick, almost like the humidity itself was sulking, she stuck a piece of gum into her mouth, felt the way it pulled at her molars. It was May. It shouldn’t have been that hot out.

She took a moment, savoring that piece of gum, before she walked to the parking lot, where her Camry would be sitting. Tonight she was supposed to go over to her parents’ for dinner, which she rarely enjoyed. She had moved out for a reason, though her parents also lived in Wyneck only a few short miles from her.

She stuck another piece of gum into her mouth, chewing viciously at the thought of seeing her family, having to withstand their indifference. Maybe she wouldn’t go over until later. Maybe she’d have a drink all by herself at home before driving herself over.

She was so deep in thought that she almost didn’t notice the teeth-whitening woman standing by her own car, a red Alfa Romeo Guilia, smoking a cigarette, her richly tanned arms leaning against the hood. It was such an obviously sexy pose, her fingers coiled around the filter, her tight jeans showing off her toned buttocks aimed toward the sky. The pose itself wasn’t even natural. Why not lean against a window instead? Stand more upright?

It was obvious she was a summer resident, here a few weekends early, before Memorial Day. No one who lived here year-round could afford that car or those Pilates-toned arms.