Without hesitation, Madeline kept on. “I love donuts—just plain glazed ones. And gummy bears. And really buttery biscuits.”

Patty let everything wash over her—the sound of the names of the foods, the heat, the motion of the car as it rolled away from the trees, from Bryan and Annette and Annette’s perfect figure. She found herself thinking about her old body, the fat one. A sense of mourning came over her, for losing it. She had been fat, yes, but she had also been more. More body, more human, more life. Why didn’t everyone want to be big? To demand more of the physical world? She suddenly wished that Madeline was big, too, that they were both so big they couldn’t fit in the car. That they were two hundred, three hundred, four hundred pounds. That they were as big and happy as clouds.

“I also really like sushi, although I’m sure it’s better where the fish is fresh.”

Patty sat still and repeated the words in her head: Fish is fresh. Fish is fresh. Like the sound of the ocean itself. She willed her stomach to growl. She would eat until she felt ill, she decided, and then she would eat some more.

The House on Alabama Street

When Jill was done dumping Cliff—for reasons he still did not under-stand—she went on a walk so that he could pack his things in peace. Packing did not take long—he had not brought much to Kansas—and so he soon found himself in the sanctuary of his busted ’97 Subaru, the only place in the world that belonged only to him. No matter that the interior stank of french fries and gasoline and that one of the wiper blades was missing. Cliff made the best of it. When it rained, he imagined his windshield was waving hello. At some point, Jill had stuck a Garfield sticker onto the glove compartment. Cliff hated Garfield.

He wasn’t sure where to go but he knew he had to go somewhere and so he simply drove. Without really meaning to, he started in the direction that Jill had gone walking. She must have made a turn somewhere, but he didn’t feel like trying to guess where—that would be stalking—and so he kept straight.

Six blocks later, he saw the ROOM AVAILABLE sign in the yard of a house with pink shutters. Because he did not know what else to do, and because he was tired from packing under emotional duress, he decided it was as good a place as any. He looked to see what street he was on: Alabama.

The muddy doormat read STAY FOR AWHILE. To his right, a porcelain rabbit stood next to an empty terra cotta planter. A glass birdfeeder hung from the awning—when he looked closer, he saw that it was filled with spider webs. He rang the bell and counted to two-Mississippi before a woman appeared. She was slender, with hair that seemed devoid of color, like a fingernail. Freckled breastbone, too much brown eye shadow, gold bangles. She could have been anything between thirty-five and sixty.