The shock of the community was vivid in the interviews with her family and friends and her picture on the front page. Victoria read the article for the third time, poking without enthusiasm at the eggs drying on her plate. She felt Michael watching her read over his fare of plain toast—no butter, no jam. Her grandmother rinsed dishes in the sink, periodically offering him eggs, bacon, and more toast as if she couldn’t believe that anyone could possibly get through the day without more calories. Religious in his diet regime, he politely declined more breakfast for the fourth time and reached over to pluck the newspaper from Victoria’s hands. “That’s enough,” he said mildly. “You’re simply depressing yourself.” She looked at her plate, scraping at the bits of yellow that were glued to the surface. The sun rose outside, gleaming like an avenging angel from a sky wiped clean of everything except endless blue depths—another scorcher, complete with sky-high humidity. “It’s a nice day,”
