She moved away from the mirror and dressed hurriedly, anxious to get into the Christmas spirit. She hadn’t worn a cap in the shower, and her hair was frizzly and unmanageable. I don’t care, she told herself, as she tied it back with a small silk scarf, I’m going to be happy, and I’m not going to worry about my hair or Aaron or Rufus. But as soon as she got caught up in the crowd of shoppers, she had an overwhelming desire to talk with someone with whom she could open up and tell all—the things that hurt her and the joy that flowed inside of her. Rufus. She needed him desperately. If screaming would have brought him to her right then, she’d have stood there in the middle of F Street and done exactly that. In the fourteen years since that fateful day when she’d grown up summarily, her studies, her work, and the music that she loved had been her companions. Not even Marva had been her confidant. Today, she was unaccountably, woefully lonely.
