Temple ate it. Not gulping it down but savoring each small bite. While Panda leaned against the doorjamb and watched, Lucy sat cross-legged at Temple’s side and tried to think what to say. In the end, she said nothing.

“That was good,” Temple said in a small voice. “Can I have another?”

Lucy thought for a moment. “No, but I’m making dinner tonight.”

Temple’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “I can’t do this any longer.”

“I know.”

Temple buried her face in her hands. “It’s all going to come crashing down. Everything I’ve worked for.”

“Not unless you want it to,” Lucy said. “You’ve fixed your body. All you need to do now is fix your head.” She rose and faced Panda. “I’ll be back in an hour. Unlock the pantry.”

Chapter Twenty

THE HOUSE WAS QUIET WHEN Lucy returned from town. She unpacked the groceries and a small charcoal grill from Panda’s trunk. While the coals heated, she tossed a worn cloth over the picnic table, set it with a hodgepodge of dishes, and shucked four ears of corn.

When she was back in the kitchen, she poured herself a generous glass of wine and unwrapped some freshly caught, but mercifully cleaned and de-headed, trout she’d bought at the marina. She stuffed the trout with spinach leaves, some wild chives she’d found growing in the back, and a few lemon slices. After brushing the fish lightly with olive oil, she set the pieces on a platter waiting for the grill. She wasn’t sure she was doing the right thing, but she did know Temple couldn’t keep on like this any longer—obsessed, tormented, and destined to regain all the weight she’d lost as soon as she left this Fat Island she’d created.

Panda appeared while she was making a quick salad, this one supplemented with pine nuts, slivers of ripe pear, and a creamy crumble of forbidden feta. “Do you really think this is a good idea?” he asked.

“Got a better one?”

He watched glumly as she mixed up a light dressing from a splash of olive oil and a fruity balsamic. “Why did I ever take this job?”

“Because you owed her.” She handed him the platter of stuffed trout. “The grill’s outside. Don’t overcook it.”

He gazed at the trout, his expression vaguely dumbfounded. “Do I look like a guy who knows how to grill?”

“Just don’t poke at the pieces until they’re ready to flip. You’ll figure it out. It’s in your male genes.”

He stalked outside, muttering under his breath. She checked the water she’d set to boil the corn. Instead of sabotaging Temple’s diet, she wanted to awaken her senses to something other than deprivation.