Serendipity

Louise Shaffer

Chapters (49)

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Serendipity is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A Ballantine Books Trade Paperback Original

Published in the United States by Ballantine Books,
an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group,
a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

BALLANTINE and colophon are registered
trademarks of Random House, Inc.
RANDOM HOUSE READER'S CIRCLE and colophon
is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

eISBN: 978-0-345-51317-5

v3.0_r1

Chapter 1 - New York City 2008

“I JUST PUT hairspray on my armpits,” Carrie said. She told herself the shrill note in her voice was not hysteria. She was not losing it; she had merely chosen to call her ex-fiancé to tell him a funny story. He was one of her very best friends, and you shared the good stuff with your pals. “I was going for the deodorant. I kept thinking, ‘Wow, this deodorant is sticky’ Then I looked at the can. The thing is, I don't know why I had hairspray—I never use it. It makes my hair look like a Brillo pad.”

“Carrie? You okay?” Howie's voice came at her over the phone. And suddenly she was going to lose it after all. How the hell do you think I am, Howie? My mother died ten days ago.

Carrie drew in a deep breath. “I'm fine,” she said.

“You sure?” Howie sounded worried—and not quite awake. What time was it, anyway? “Why are you up at four-thirty in the morning?” he added, answering the question.

“Oh God, I'm sorry. I didn't know…” Explanations raced through her head. See, Howie, I've been waking up a little early … No, the truth is, Howie, I can't sleep. I can't eat either—nothing except potato chips. I got into them when I was hanging around the hospital… She stopped herself. Because she was rambling. True, it was an internal ramble, but anytime she started wandering mentally it was a sure sign that she had lost control. And dwelling on the hospital and her mother's last days there was definitely a bad idea. Carrie had gotten through the funeral Mass a week ago, and the memorial service the day before, by not dwelling. Not dwelling had gotten her out of bed that morning and it had gotten her dressed—except for the hairspray/deodorant mishap—and now she was on her way to clean out her mother's apartment. Although possibly not right at this moment. Not at four-thirty AM. “Go back to sleep, Howie. I'm sorry I bothered you.”