Out in the hall, the grandfather clock chimed, startling her. It was ten. The chime echoed throughout the house. By the third chime she plugged her ears. The rest were muffled by the blood thumping beneath her fingers.

Geraldine returned with the tea in a blue Willow china set, cups and saucers, sugar dish and cream pitcher. She laid the tray on the table and sat on the grumbling plastic covering the chair, leaned over and poured two cups.

"Milk and sugar?"

"No. Thank you."

Sheila sipped hers dutifully. It tasted sweet without sugar and rich without milk, with a strong herb flavor she couldn't quite pick out. Anise, maybe. Or cinnamon. She knew the flavors were entirely unalike but the taste defied description. Each sip tasted entirely different. Before she knew it, she'd finished the entire cup.

"This is delicious. Where did you get it?"

"Helen Birch makes it. Her own concoction, from fresh herbs and sundry."

"Sundry?"

"This and that." The old woman glanced up at the owl on the mantel, sipping her tea thoughtfully. "This one... this one is quite menacing, isn't she? You know, many native Indian cultures believe owls are a symbol of death."

"Is that why you collect them?"

"Oh no. No, no, no." She set her teacup and saucer down. "Would you like some more?"

"I'm fine, thanks."

Geraldine nodded. She smoothed her jogging pants and regarded the owl again. "The owls remind me to ask, Who am I?"

"Who are you."

Geraldine smiled. "Yes."

"And why is that important to you?" Sheila asked, unintentionally lapsing into psychologist-mode. "I'm sorry, that's too personal."

"Oh no, don't be. I believe it's important to hold a mirror up to ourselves, so to speak. To remember where and what we come from. It keeps us grounded. The Ancient Greeks have a saying, Know thyself. I believe it's fair to say your profession is built around this—knowing oneself. How well do you know yourself, Ms. Tanner?"

Sheila shrugged. "As well as anyone does, I guess."

Geraldine tutted. "I'd hazard you know a bit more than most."

"Like you said, introspection comes with the territory."

The old woman smiled, looking very pleased. "Physician, heal thyself."

"Luke 4:23."

"You know your Bible."

"I know the quote."

The old woman glanced at the unfinished booty. "Would you like to know yourself better, Ms. Tanner?"

"Sheila. Of course. Who wouldn't?"

"Oh, I'd imagine many would shy away from a light shining on every dark corner of themselves. We've all got things to hide, don't we? From ourselves as much as from others."

"Do you?"

Geraldine's smile returned. She didn't answer.

"Well, I really should get running—"

"Running, yes. Always running. But from what?"

Sheila squinted at her. It seemed like a challenge.

Geraldine removed her gloves, one by one. The flesh beneath was pitted and black, like blood clots from disuse. She held them out, palms up, over the tea set. The palms had no lines.

Seeing this, Sheila felt a prickle of revulsion. She tried to reason it away, tried to convince herself there was some kind of heavy-duty hand cream in her gloves that would prevent her palms from creasing or they'd been worn away in some kind of accident like a chemical burn but she couldn't, and looking at them made her feel slightly ill.