She was in the den. In Wallis. Her book about Lady Wallis was dead, and now the boathouse had blown up. Another great beginning to another fabulous day, she thought bitterly as she went into the kitchen. She filled the electric kettle and clicked it on. She opened the cabinet, and, from among several different types of tea, she and Henry being aficionados, removed a sachet of double-bergamot Earl Grey.Strong tea. She had that tiny thread of Englishness in her bones that believed the right cup of tea might possibly make everything better, no matter what the situation. Catching a whiff of the still-burned strands of her hair, she realized that in this case, “the situation” was as simple as being alive.And that has to be something, right? she reminded herself as she poured hot water over the tea bag. In any case, for the first time in a long time, she was happy to feel her body. It actually felt like a bonus, as opposed to a large steamer trunk. She sighed and dropped the tea bag into the garbage.
