You learn of Ben's death and Austin and Susan's engagement on the same day. The double blow sends you into a bittersweet reverie of several days' duration. A part of you wishes you had given Ben your heart when he asked for it; had you known that he would last so short a time upon the earth, you would not have denied him those few years of happiness.

Another part of you rejoices in your brother's engagement, for it guarantees Sue's presence in your life; but you also mourn the loss of a Sue you can neither have nor be. As she recounted the details of their secret hotel rendezvous in Boston, you felt more jealous than ever before-- but of whom, you could not be certain. Such feelings estrange you from yourself. To find your way back, you throw yourself into your writing, seeking the consolation of language in the absence of a love you cannot claim.

You consider answering Austin's request that you read his latest mediocre poem, "Variations of Greenville," and extending your congratulations; but perhaps you should wait until you are in a better frame of mind.

If you write Austin now, turn to page 38.

If you bake cake instead, turn to page 27.