She turned off the highway and drove down Pine Street. She passed the Willis Women’s Club and sped by the brick building guiltily. She had made a commitment to attend Weight Watchers meetings there every afternoon for six months but had not shown up since the third meeting. She had adhered to the strict diet for the first two weeks and had lost five pounds, half of her goal, but the pressure had been too much. The weigh-ins, the pep talks, the lectures, the journals, the propaganda, had all made her feel too constrained. Besides, although she could afford to lose a little on the thighs, she still had a shapely figure and she knew she looked a hell of a lot better than some of the women in town who had not signed up for Weight Watchers at all.

She saw one of those women now, Beth Johnson, pulling out of the post-office parking lot. Beth waved at her, a false plastic smile on her face, and Tritia waved back.

She continued down Pine, then turned off on the dirt road just before the golf course. She continued around the small hill until she came to the small cluster of homes adjacent to the old ranger station.

She pulled into Irene’s driveway. She had first met Irene Hill when they had both worked as volunteers for the annual library book sale a few years back. Irene had been one of the original founders of the library, back in the days when few people in the town read or wanted to read, and she had, by all accounts, been one of the major civilizing forces in the community. Even after retiring, Irene had continued her association with the library, spearheading fund-raising efforts and volunteering for book drives, patron-membership drives, and book and magazine sales. It was Irene herself, in fact, who initially called Tritia, soliciting her help.

The two of them had hit it off instantly. They were of different generations, of course, but Irene was up on current politics and cultural events, and with her outgoing personality and boundless enthusiasm for everything, she seemed to have more in common with Tritia than with the fossilized volunteers her own age.

Tritia got out of the car and walked up the faded wood steps to the screened porch. She knocked on the door and Irene’s voice sounded from the kitchen, “Come on in. Door’s unlocked.”