Nonetheless, she was putting on a bit of beef in the thigh. No matter how much effort she put into keeping fit, her body had begun to take its own twists and turns. Four weeks earlier, she and Cass, who was eight years her junior, had signed up for swing dance lessons. At the first class, Hazzley was not bothered by the fact that she was the oldest person there. She was happy to be with Cass, who had the most infectious laugh of any of her acquaintances. Cass loved dance, loved music, loved having fun. “I predict that you’ll be the best dancer in the group,” Cass told her. Hazzley sometimes wondered about the accuracy of her friend’s prophesies. These were subtle, buried in conversation, unremembered until after the fact. Cass had always been amused by the name her mother had bestowed upon her—Cassandra—along with its mythical narrative. She’d been nicknamed Case, also by her mother, but that abbreviation was used only by immediate family and her partner, Rice. To everyone else, she was Cass or Cassie.

Rice was a jazz musician who occasionally performed at the café. He had not been interested in signing up for swing lessons. From Hazzley’s point of view, Cass had a solid partnership, and a few dance lessons without Rice wasn’t going to bother anyone. After dance class, Cass went home to Rice. Hazzley went home alone.

Well, she thought, I could always join the Friday night poker group that’s advertised on Marvin’s board. Or I could put a white sock over my hand and paint on a lipstick mouth, an eye on each side, and teach myself ventriloquism. Learn how to work around those seven difficult consonants—BFMPVWY. I know that much; I’d have a head start. I talk to myself anyway, so I may as well talk to a sock in a mirror with my lips partly closed.

What would she tell the sock? Ventriloquism was about deflection, wasn’t it? Deflection of attention, change of direction.

One thing she could say for certain was that since Lew’s death, she’d been as lonely as a person could be.

And what would the sock reply?

Before she started the car, she spotted the end table wedged into the back seat. She remembered that she’d run back into the house, earlier, and carried the table out. Another item gone. She felt lighter already. She’d drop it off at the Sally Ann on the way home.

Tonight, she would add this to her journal: First step taken. Notice pinned at Marvin’s. Now I’ll have to wait and see what happens Tues. night.

Flock

GWEN

Gwen heard screams as she pulled up to the garage, but she sat for a moment and allowed the sun to warm her. Despite the wind, she left the car windows down. She loved the crisp air, summer’s ebb, the perfect fall day. A maple tree on the next lawn had begun to scatter a few red leaves across the browning grass. The screams turned to shrieks, raucous and shrill. She got out of the car and fit the key to the front door. Abrupt silence at the click.