There is no one else at the office when Katriina gets in, which is surprising for any Sunday, let alone month-end. In the quiet of the empty room she sits in her cubicle and stares at her blank computer screen for fifteen minutes before she shakes herself into action. Forget about it, she tells herself. It’s a new day, a clean slate. It’s time to get a move on, to get things done, to hit the ground running. She fires up her computer, flips through some paperwork. She feels more productive already. Time to make some coffee.

In the break room Katriina has taken the coffee off the shelf and filled the carafe with water before she realizes that Krista Shepherd is standing in the doorway, watching her.

“Good morning, Katriina. You’re here bright and early!” She checks her watch. “Well, sort of.”

Katriina has the urge to leave the coffee where it is and go back to her desk. Instead she smiles, just as sweetly and naturally as if she were smiling at her children, all the while imagining how satisfying it would feel to punch Krista in the face. The ability to do this is what makes her a good real estate agent. “You betcha,” she says.

Krista holds her hand out in front of her, examining her flawless gel nails. “It’s such a bitch having to come in on Sunday, isn’t it?” she says. “I mean, you could be at home all cuddled up in bed having breakfast with your husband right now, am I right?”

She knows! How could she know? She can’t know. She doesn’t know. “We do what we have to do,” Katriina says. She shoves the basket back into the coffee maker and jabs the On button, then turns around and leans against the counter next to Krista. They smile at each other.

“Yes,” says Krista. “Indeed we do.”

“Indeed we do,” echoes Katriina.

They stand there in silence. Behind them, the coffee maker gurgles and belches, spitting liquid out into the carafe. Katriina can hear movement outside the break room, the office coming to life. So much for her morning of solitude.

“So,” Krista says suddenly, smiling wider. “How’s the Paulsson house?”

Katriina feels a sick kind of churning in her stomach. “Great,” she says. “Just great.”

Krista crosses her legs in front of her, delicately, at the ankles. Katriina looks at those legs and imagines that Krista must do a lot of hot yoga. “I really admire you, you know?” Krista says. “That house must be a nightmare. But you just charged ahead courageously, throwing caution to the wind, and said, ‘I’ll take it,’ dead kid and all.”