The next morning, while still relishing her victory, a phone call interrupted her breakfast. Her friend Joan had taken a job as a clerk at the local hospital and often called with stories about who was leaving the gynecologist’s office or who was checking into the psychiatric ward.

“Therese, are you sitting down?”

“Yes, Joan. What is it?”

There was a pause, which happened either for dramatic effect or because, in her excitement, Joan was gagging on her own saliva. Therese prepared herself to hear the latest update on who had just had a mammogram and waited for Joan to resume.

“You know that guy from the supermarket? The one you’ve been seeing?”

She pressed the phone so close to her ear that a dark red circle formed. “Yes,” Therese said. Her voice was sharp, like a hand slapping a face.

“I was walking by the ER, and I saw him there. I overheard some of the nurses talking, and they said he was in a car accident. I think he’s okay, but maybe you should get down here. Anyway, I just thought you should know.”

Was he going to call her? Had she earned the right to be one of the people contacted in case of an emergency? She quickly dismissed any pangs of sentimentality and instead thanked Joan for the information, promised her a lunch, and quickly got off the phone.

She went into the bathroom to fix her makeup and then brushed her teeth, her mouth waking with the motion and taste of mint. As she drove, she wondered whether her news had contributed in any way to Tim’s accident. She caught herself smiling in the rearview ­mirror, thinking how funny it was that things always had a way of working themselves out.

Therese walked into the hospital and smiled at the man at the registration desk. She recognized him from the few times she had met Joan there for lunch. “I’m here to visit a patient.”

“Patient’s name?”

“Timothy Yaga.”

She edged closer to his desk and smiled, shifting her weight to her left hip and tilting her head to one side. A strand of hair came loose from her clip and rested along the side of her face. She twisted it, slowly, enjoying the feel against her finger.

“Second Floor. Room 212. Elevator all the way down the hall to your right.” He hesitated. “Why don’t you just go ahead and use the employee elevator. It’s closer and much less crowded. If anyone gives you a hard time, you tell them to come see me. Name is Jim.”

“Thanks, Jim.”

She started to walk away and then stopped and turned. She kissed the palm of her hand and, very gently, as though she was sending him a butterfly, blew in his direction. He grinned and looked down, but she had already seen the redness creep into his face.