Something about the boy, so tidy and polite, captivated Jane. “He’s adorable,” she said. The mother looked up at her and a shadow of confusion crossed her face.

Jane closed the door and went to the mirror. Her blouse was buttoned incorrectly and her hair was puffy on one side, as if she’d just crawled out of bed. She was still wearing only one shoe. She fixed herself up, brushed down her hair, put on the other shoe. Awful woman with her perfect string of “pearls” against her cream-colored sweater and her perfect little child. She hated women who paraded their children around and had them perform for strangers as if they were trained monkeys. Gerald could never accuse her of having done that. She took a few more swipes at her hair and then felt a hollow thump in her chest. Gerald. She looked at her watch. Ten to four. She ran into the bedroom, found her briefcase on the bureau and fumbled with the clasps. Her appointment book was on top. She leafed through it, looking for today’s page; a storm of notes fluttered to the floor. She squinted, afraid to open her eyes and face it head-on. But there it was, just as she’d feared, a note that Thomas had written for her over a week ago stating that he had a department meeting today and therefore wouldn’t be able to pick Gerald up at his piano lesson in Cambridge as he usually did. The lesson ended at four. She’d need half an hour—at least—to get out of this room, down to the garage, across the bridge, and all the way to the other side of Harvard Square. She yanked her sweater over her head, scurried around the room looking for anything she might have dropped. Calling the school now would only take up more time. She’d call from the car. She found her jacket and her bag, cursing herself for her forgetfulness.

She took one last swing through the rooms; for the past three weeks she’d lived in fear of leaving something important behind in this bland landscape where any personal item would be as damning as a drop of blood on a white bedsheet. Nothing here but all that perfectly good food going to waste. Sixty dollars down the drain, but worse still was the sight of it, sitting there peacefully waiting for someone to come along and eat it. Poignant. She grabbed the bottle of wine, stuck it in her bag, and ran out.