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After the Sicilian proposed, I ordered a glass of wine. I waited for the AA police to slap the glass from my hand, to make a citizen’s arrest. I waited for lightning and thunder and my higher power to speak, but nothing happened. I looked at the waiter. Help me, I thought. The glass was set in front of me. “I thought you didn’t drink.” “I won’t marry you unless you let me drink.” And so, I drank. It seemed inevitable. It tasted insignificant. I did not get drunk. But the next time, I drank more, and my brain remembered how much better it felt to shut down. I drank with some degree of control because getting married was on the menu, and if the Sicilian knew the sad heart of his future bride, he might panic. I drank and flashed my diamond at work. I took a brief trip to Dublin and announced I was no longer an alcoholic. I got very, very drunk with Gabrielle, and she asked me if I loved my future husband.
“No. But it doesn’t matter. I have a diamond ring. I want to get married.” “And then?” Her forehead was lined with worry. “Then I’ll kill myself.” “Molly! You mustn’t.” No, I must because then my mother will finally believe how terrible I felt.

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During my phone company days close to Christmas, I was sent to check on a new installer trying to connect a residence line. He had called in to say he was afraid, and the people who lived there were trying to burn the house down. When I pulled up, the installer stood outside the house, a shabby ranch, dark amid the other houses decorated with lights and Santa, looking stunned. "Listen, these people are in some kind of cult."

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Retrieving my clog, I picked up my bag and left. There was a bus to New York City that stopped across the street. I would be home in a few hours. My friend Palmer had invited me to her parents’ house in the Adirondacks. This would be better than sitting in my tiny house wondering why I had refused to go to Tortola. Palmer had a friend, an actress friend, who also came. She sat in the back seat and talked about auditioning. When she stopped, I talked about Catherine.

I told Palmer about the couple who came to Beckman's house expecting dinner and instead were told my sister was dead. Laughter came from the back seat. I turned around. The actress was giggling. “I'm sorry, but you're so intense. Seriously, I can't handle how intense you are.”

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