“You’re looking wonderful!” said Louise, beaming at Sherri. Sherri knew this was a lie. Every time she looked in the mirror she felt like she was living and reliving a bad, bad dream: her hair so plain, her clothing so loose and unflattering. Bags under her eyes big enough to fit shopping into. As soon as she’d saved enough credit, she might avail herself of some of Derma-You’s services. “You look like you got a little bit of sun?” Louise said.

“Well, yes,” said Sherri. “I—we, we’ve been to the beach a couple of times.” She put a hand to her cheek and thought about Jan’s eagle eye on her sunspots.

“Ah!” said Louise. “Yes. The beaches up this way are supposed to be marvelous.” She beamed some more. “How are you finding everything . . . socially? And with the house? And the job? I’m so happy to hear about the job. I was really glad we were able to make that happen for you.”

Did Louise really want to hear about the intricacies of the social world, about Katie having been left out of the Boda Borg birthday party, about Sherri’s gaffes? Did she want to hear about the leaky faucet in the bathroom, and the way Miss Josephine banged on the wall when Katie had one of her nightmares? Was Louise somebody Sherri would be able to call upon, like an old friend, when she had a down moment and needed somebody to lend an ear?

No. Louise was a paid employee of the U.S. Marshals Service, a woman doing her job, a woman who possibly had to miss a son’s baseball game or a good friend’s birthday so she could travel up here and sit with Sherri in the food court of a mall and make sure she wasn’t going to blow her cover.

“All good,” said Sherri. “All very, very good. We’re really just so grateful for everything, for the fresh start.”

“And do you feel as if your new identity has been compromised in any way, Sherri? As though you or Katie have let anything slip?”

“No. Not in any way.” Sherri sat up a little straighter when she said this, as if she were back in school, looking for the teacher’s praise. What a good little government witness you are, Sherri! (She had not actually been a wonderful student. She’d been solidly average; she had never cared that much about school, truth be told. It turned out she was much better at witnessing.)

Louise stood. Sherri stood also. Louise said, “I’d shake your hand, Sherri, but you know how it is. We’re just supposed to be two old friends, meeting up on our lunch hour.”