Acorns popped under the tires of Candice’s car as it wound through the leaf-canopied streets of outer Queens. When it reached the Long Island Expressway, traffic was moving more smoothly than she had expected. One o’clock was still early, even in on a late-August Friday when everyone was headed out to the Hamptons.

“You took a half-day off for this?” Annie asked.

“I called in a favor,” Candice replied with a flick of her head. A stranger would think that this and her other pet gesture, a wave of her hand over one eye, were neurotic tics. But those who knew her recognized that they were left over from when she had long, wavy hair that was always falling in her face. Or maybe they were neurotic tics that had just been laid bare by the cutting of her hair, like the bones of her long neck that been made visible by the sinking of her skin. She was approaching fifty. Still, her skin was fresh and her jaw strong. A challenging kind of beauty remained in her large-featured face, even when it confronted you squarely as a road sign, as it tended to do. . . . Read More.