You’re twenty-four years old. You graduated from Harvard. I want you to tell me what you want to do with your life.”Her granddaughter looked thin, the flesh of her face drawn too tightly over the bones. There were dark shadows beneath her expressive eyes, attesting that she wasn’t sleeping well. Laurette wondered if perhaps Catherine were still ill. Ill, she thought with a wince at her ridiculous euphemism. Catherine had spent nearly two weeks in a private sanatorium in Vermont, and supposedly had no more addiction to cocaine. But she was still irritable, still nervous, her body flinching at any unexpected sound.Laurette said softly when Catherine didn’t answer her, “I want you to be happy, my dear. But you must be strong now. You must search for your direction.”Catherine laughed, but it wasn’t a healthy sound. “My direction,” she mused aloud, staring away from her grandmother. “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”“I remember how well you did in mathematics, my dear.
