At quitting time, she poked her tongue out at it. “Traitor!” she heckled, while waggling her finger. “You used to come through for a sistah.” When one of her female coworkers asked if she was talking to the telephone, Chandelle offered three cold words to ward off any discussion, “Mind your business.” She had begun to build a hedge around her private life, afraid others would see into her potpourri of despair and pity her—or worse, laugh.With Grace out on maternity leave for who knew how long, Chandelle’s workload increased immediately. In for a long night, she collected a stack of files and headed to the house. Hoards of motorists edged along the freeway with her. There were no magic words to make all of them disappear, or Chandelle would have been screaming at them at the top of her lungs. “Come on,” she grunted when the woman in front of her slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting the car farther ahead. She craned her neck to see if there had actually been an accident, which she’d immediately refuse to get involved with.
