Michelle was sounding alarm bells everywhere in Lucy’s brain, but Lucy felt the pull of a 188 greater inertia, the urge to stay put so strong that to deny it was to deny the existence of gravity. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. There would be ultimate misery, but it would be needless cruelty to give her a push toward it. ’ ‘Gracious heaven, Gerald! If your dear mama could not drag you to the altar, I am hardly likely to succeed.
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