Now, what to do about the blender?

“Dear Bryan,” she wrote. “I would like the blender back, but I’m out of town for a while.” This was true, or true enough. Kurt lived in Lawrence, a good hour away from Kansas City. Plus, “out of town” created the illusion of vacation, of tropical climates and European vistas. “As I may not be in KC any time soon, why don’t you hold onto it for me, and I can come get it the next time I’m in the area? This might not be for some time—maybe around the holidays. Thank you. Patty Graber.”

The holidays could mean anything between Thanksgiving and New Year’s. The summer was just gearing up, which meant she had a good six months to diet. Starting today, she told herself. And then, remembering the German chocolate cake in the refrigerator, decided that tomorrow would work just as well.

As she eased into her diet, Patty thought often of what Bryan told her when she first found Annette’s muddy flip-flops in the back of his Volvo. “She has an energy,” he’d said. “When I look at her, I feel hopeful.” “And what do you feel when you look at me?” Patty had asked, her heart funneling deeper and deeper down the drain of her body. Bryan had refused to answer the question. All he could say was that he was sorry. That it wouldn’t happen again.

The whole thing made little sense. Sure, Annette was young and thin, but she was not particularly pretty. She had oily skin and split ends that broke off and littered her white serving apron. Her nostrils were covered in tiny red veins that gave her the appearance of always having a cold. But it was true she had an energy about her—a glow even Patty couldn’t refute. Annette whistled as she served and always drew something playful on her copy of the receipt—a smiling banana, an octopus shaking a pair of maracas. She was exciting, something Patty worried she herself had never been. Bryan had sometimes poked fun at her for it—how she had a hard time finding the appeal in things like sledding or cruises or concerts. She liked quiet pleasures that required little risk: reading mystery novels, watching movies, eating ice cream with hot fudge. Even in her party days, she’d only tolerated the clubs because she had an idea she might find a boyfriend there. Really, she hated everything about going out—the loud music, the crowds, waking up in the morning with her ears ringing, her hair smelling of cigarettes. How stupid, in the end, to have met Bryan while shoe shopping. All those wasted mornings spent hungover. But Bryan loved going out. Loved drinking. Meeting strangers. Dancing. Annette surely liked dancing, too—she had the body for it, long and lean with a ballerina’s figure.

Patty was pleased when slowly but surely the weight left her, sloughing off like layers of skin. By late August, she weighed 166 pounds but had not yet found a job. Bryan was still transferring her money every other week, but the number grew smaller and smaller. “I hope you’re enjoying your vacation,” he wrote in an e-mail. She didn’t bother to respond.