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At
home
she
tried
a
Russian
game
book
,
but
she
couldn
’
t
concentrate
.
She
started
going
through
her
game
with
Foster
,
setting
the
board
up
in
the
kitchen
,
but
the
moves
of
it
were
too
painful
.
That
damned
Stonewall
,
and
the
hastily
pushed
pawn
.
A
patzer
’
s
move
.
Bad
chess
.
Hungover
chess
.
The
telephone
rang
,
but
she
didn
’
t
answer
.
She
sat
at
the
board
and
wished
for
a
moment
,
painfully
,
that
she
had
someone
to
call
.
Harry
Beltik
would
be
back
in
Louisville
.
And
she
didn
’
t
want
to
tell
him
about
the
game
with
Foster
.
He
would
find
out
soon
enough
.
She
could
call
Benny
.
But
Benny
had
been
icy
after
Paris
,
and
she
did
not
want
to
talk
to
him
.
There
was
no
one
else
.
She
got
up
wearily
and
opened
the
cabinet
next
to
the
refrigerator
,
took
down
a
bottle
of
white
wine
and
poured
herself
a
glassful
.
A
voice
inside
her
cried
out
at
the
outrage
,
but
she
ignored
it
.
She
drank
half
of
it
in
one
long
swallow
and
stood
waiting
until
she
could
feel
it
.
Then
she
finished
the
glass
and
poured
another
.
A
person
could
live
without
chess
.
Most
people
did
When
she
awoke
on
the
sofa
the
next
morning
,
still
wearing
the
Paris
clothes
she
had
worn
when
losing
the
game
to
Foster
,
she
was
frightened
in
a
new
way
.
She
could
sense
her
brain
being
physically
blurred
by
alcohol
,
its
positional
grasp
gone
clumsy
,
its
penetration
clouded
.
But
after
breakfast
she
showered
and
changed
and
then
poured
herself
a
glass
of
wine
.
It
was
almost
mechanical
;
she
had
learned
to
cut
off
thought
as
she
did
it
.
The
main
thing
was
to
eat
some
toast
first
,
so
the
wine
wouldn
’
t
burn
her
stomach
.
She
kept
drinking
for
days
,
but
the
memory
of
the
game
she
had
lost
and
the
fear
of
what
she
was
doing
to
the
sharp
edge
of
her
gift
would
not
go
away
,
except
when
she
was
so
drunk
that
she
could
not
even
think
.
There
was
a
piece
in
the
Sunday
paper
about
her
,
with
one
of
the
pictures
taken
that
morning
at
the
high
school
,
and
a
headline
reading
CHESS
CHAMP
DROPS
FROM
TOURNEY
.
She
threw
the
paper
away
without
reading
the
article
.
Then
one
morning
after
a
night
of
dark
and
confusing
dreams
she
awoke
with
an
unaccustomed
clarity
:
if
she
did
not
stop
drinking
immediately
she
would
ruin
what
she
had
.
She
had
allowed
herself
to
sink
into
this
frightening
murk
.
She
had
to
find
a
foothold
somewhere
to
push
herself
free
of
it
.
She
would
have
to
get
help
.
With
a
great
sense
of
relief
,
she
suddenly
knew
who
it
was
she
wanted
to
get
help
from
.
Jolene
was
not
in
the
Lexington
directory
.
Beth
Tried
information
in
Louisville
and
Frankfort
.
No
Jolene
DeWitt
.
She
could
have
married
and
changed
her
name
.
She
could
be
in
Chicago
or
the
Klondike
for
that
matter
;
Beth
had
not
seen
or
heard
from
her
since
the
day
she
left
Methuen
.
And
there
was
only
one
thing
to
do
if
she
was
to
go
through
with
this
.
Her
adoption
papers
were
in
a
drawer
in
Mrs
.
Wheatley
’
s
desk
.
She
got
the
folder
out
and
found
a
letter
with
the
Methuen
name
and
slogan
at
the
top
of
it
in
red
.
The
phone
number
was
there
.
She
held
the
paper
nervously
for
several
moments
.
At
the
bottom
it
was
signed
in
a
small
,
neat
hand
:
Helen
Deardorff
,
Superintendent
.
It
was
almost
noon
,
and
she
had
not
had
a
drink
yet
.
For
a
moment
she
thought
of
steadying
herself
with
a
Gibson
,
but
she
could
not
hide
the
stupidity
of
that
idea
from
herself
.
A
Gibson
would
be
the
end
of
her
resolve
.
She
might
be
alcoholic
,
but
she
was
not
a
fool
.
She
went
upstairs
and
got
her
bottle
of
Mexican
Librium
and
took
two
.
Waiting
for
the
tension
to
ease
,
she
walked
into
the
yard
which
the
boy
had
mowed
the
day
before
.
The
tea
roses
had
finally
bloomed
.
The
petals
had
fallen
from
most
of
them
,
and
at
the
end
of
some
of
the
stems
were
spherical
,
pregnant
-
looking
hips
where
the
flowers
had
been
.
She
had
never
noticed
them
when
they
were
blooming
in
June
and
July
.
Back
in
the
kitchen
,
she
felt
steadier
.
The
tranquilizers
were
working
.
How
many
brain
cells
did
they
kill
with
each
milligram
?
It
couldn
’
t
be
as
bad
as
liquor
.
She
walked
into
the
living
room
and
dialed
the
Methuen
Home
.
The
operator
at
Methuen
put
her
on
hold
.
Beth
reached
over
to
the
bottle
,
shook
out
a
green
pill
and
swallowed
it
.
Finally
the
voice
came
,
shockingly
crisp
,
from
the
receiver
.
“
Helen
Deardorff
speaking
.
”
For
a
moment
she
couldn
’
t
speak
and
wanted
to
hang
up
,
but
she
sucked
in
her
breath
and
said
,
“
Mrs
.
Deardorff
,
this
is
Beth
Harmon
.
”
