The night before I was supposed to accept an award, my MIL cut my ceremonial gown to pieces. “Who else is going to serve dinner tomorrow?” she said.

And I was afraid to attend my own award ceremony because my mother-in-law needed green beans.

That should have made me angry.

Mostly, it exhausted me.

My phone rang.

Denise.

I answered.

Hi, where are you?

Almost there.

Silence.

Then, Clare.

I closed my eyes.

I pulled over.

I knew it.

How?

Because I know you.

That irritated me.

Apparently, everybody knows me today.

You sound cranky.

I am cranky.

Good. Means you’re still alive.

I stared through the windshield.

I’m thinking about going back.

Denise waited before asking, “Why?”

Because maybe I’m making too much of this.

Your mother-in-law cut up your dress.

I know.

On purpose.

Yes.

With scissors.

Denise, I’m reviewing the evidence.

I rubbed my forehead.

She’s 76.

So?

Mark’s angry.

Also, so?

Everybody’s there.

Denise sighed.

Clare, listen to me.

I waited.

That part of you that wants to turn around, she’s had the steering wheel for 23 years.

I gave a weak laugh.

Very poetic.

I’m not finished.

Of course not.

Let somebody else drive for 10 minutes.

I looked at my hands.

Then Denise added, “Also, I spent $40 getting that dress dry cleananed and I expect a return on my investment.”

That got me.

I laughed.

Actually laughed.

All right.

All right.

What I’m going good, bossy.

You created me.

I started the car.

By the time I reached downtown, I was late enough to feel anxious but early enough that nobody noticed.

The Ohio theater lobby was busy without being chaotic.

Volunteers carried clipboards. Others carried garment bags. Someone tested a camera by the entrance.

A man wearing a headset directed me toward registration.

The ordinary details helped.

Sign here. Badge there. Makeup touchup at 5:10. Sound check at 5:30.

For nearly 20 minutes, Patricia disappeared from my thoughts.

I answered questions, smiled for a photo, and let a woman named Kelsey fix some powder beneath my left eye.

At one point she stepped back and commented on how nervous I looked.

Then she smiled.

“Good means you care. I’d heard versions of that sentence before. That night, I believed it.”

At 5:18, Sam Ortega appeared.