Excuse me, Carrie said, pushing her way through the line to get to the kitchen door.

I think that's employees only, an old man told her.

I'm an employee, Carrie said, slamming her hand against the swinging door.

In that case I should probably tell you we're low on yams.

Madeline was sitting at her kitchen table, wolfing down what looked like half a key lime pie. She stared up at Carrie like she was coming face-to-face with an alien.

What in the world are you doing here? she asked, wiping crumbs off her chin.

Does it give you some sort of perverse thrill or something, screwing with my life like this?

Madeline looked around the kitchen, like there might be someone else with whom Carrie was conversing. Huh?

Look, I'm sorry I was less than honest with you, all right? But you're fucking with my peace of mind now, and I won't stand for it.

Madeline wiped her mouth on a napkin. What are you even doing here today? The fund-raiser's tomorrow!

Ha! Funny. I am here because you told me the fund-raiser was /today/, you fat, dateless innkeeper!

Madeline stood up from the table, throwing down her napkin like it was a gauntlet. I never told you it was today, you bulimic bitch!

You did so tell me it was today!

I did /not/!

The kitchen door opened. It was the old man. We're waiting on those yams, he said.

Madeline scurried around the kitchen. Coming! She ran out to the dining room. While she was gone, Carrie hooked her finger and dragged it through the top of the key lime pie and ate the stuff right off her finger.

Madeline came back. Look, I'm kind of busy right now. So, if you don't mind…?

Mind what? Carrie asked.

Leaving.

Carrie huffed in disbelief. And go where? Nothing's open in this ridiculous town! It's Thanksgiving Day! I don't have anywhere to go!

Then go home and come back tomorrow.

No! I… well, no! I'm not driving all the way back to Charleston tonight, then back up tomorrow, and back down again tomorrow night! That would be an entire day of my life completely wasted!

Madeline shrugged. Then go get a hotel room somewhere.

I'll take my usual suite here.

Oh yeah? Madeline stopped what she was doing and stared at Carrie.

You'll be rooming with Mr. and Mrs. Cliff Turner of Cumberland, Maryland, and their two lovely granddaughters. Let me get you a key.

Carrie felt like she was cracking into tiny pieces. Many people might see this mix-up as a minor inconvenience, but on top of everything else she'd been through in the last few months, it was too much.

Then just forget it, she told Madeline, sick of the whole business, sick of her whole life. She was tearing up. You go ahead and e-mail anyone you want. Tell everyone that I make myself puke a few times a dayI don't think it will cause the state government to come to a screeching halt. I just don't care anymore. I was going to quit anyway. She turned to leave.

Madeline sounded just as tired. OK. Great. Whatever.

Carrie was about to exit the swinging door when her empty stomach twisted in on itself. How much is the Thanksgiving buffet? she asked.

Everything is fabulous, Jeff told Kat. You've done an incredible job.

Heads nodded all around while the forks kept moving. Kat beamed.

Sunshine?

She turned to her uncle, who was seated at her left elbow. Ready for more turkey? she asked him. As soon as she said the words, she saw that something was wrong. In fact, she'd been so busy that she hadn't admitted that something had been a little off all day. Cliff was acting worried. He seemed uncomfortable when he talked to her, which was not like him. Kat glanced at Barbara and saw the same discomfort in her expression.

Kat's heart fell to her stomach. Is something wrong?

It was probably the cadence of her voice, so unlike the laughter and lively conversation that had filled the house all day, but as soon as she asked her question, everything came to a standstill.

Cliff looked around the table, horrified. I… uh, it can wait, I guess.

Oh, Lord, Barbara mumbled.

Kat looked back and forth between them. Would somebody please tell me what's going on?

Barbara gestured to Cliff. I told you to wait until the end of the day if she didn't bring it up, but no, you had to say something right in the middle of dinner.

Cliff looked guilty.

What? Kat put her napkin in her lap and waited. Is it something about the charitable gift?

Cliff shook his head in the negative, dragging the tines of his fork across his gravy, making a serpentine design. Finally his eyes met Kat's. Did you look in all the boxes Rita gave you?

Kat was about to answer when a powerfully charged current of dread passed through her. It took her a few seconds to ask the most pressing question, which was, How the hell do you know Rita?

Cliff looked to his wife. She nodded for him to continue.

Did you open the boxes?

A couple of them, yes. Why?

Cliff began to grind his teeth.

Oh, Lord, Cliff! Barbara sighed. Kat, honey, I guess you didn't find anything in the boxes that you'd like to discuss with Cliff, would that be accurate to say?

Kat was baffled. She looked at Riley and he shrugged.

She put her napkin on the table and pushed her chair back. What are you talking about? How do you know about my mother and her boxes? Or Rita?

Or that Rita gave me the boxes? Kat's heart began to beat wildly.

Where are they, Kat? Cliff asked in a calm voice.

On the attic stairs. But you're not answering me! Tears began to well in her eyes. Why aren't you answering me? What's going on?

Cliff looked pained. What did you find in the boxes you did open?

Kat had a feeling her hard-won peace was about to be blown to hell.

Books, an old coat, a charm bracelet, art projects.

Cliff frowned. But there was a box you never opened at all?

Kat swallowed hard, nodding.

Cliff said to Aidan, Do you think you could go find that one and bring it on down here?

Aidan's mouth was pulled tight and he flashed his eyes at Kat in disappointment. I thought you said there weren't any more secrets, Mom.

There aren't! she yelled.

Well, that's not entirely true, Cliff said. How about you go get that box, son?

Aidan left the table. Nola stared at Kat with giant eyes. Matt buttered a roll. Rachel sat straight and stayed quiet. Barbara looked sad. Jeff and Richard were huddled together, whispering. The kids looked bored.

Riley put his hand on Kat's shoulder in a protective gesture. I think you better explain what this is all about, Cliff, he said.

Cliff nodded, the seriousness etched in his kind face. Everything she needs to know is inside that box.

Virgil staggered around the kitchen, the lack of sleep and the physical demands of the last few weeks finally catching up with him. He found a box of saltines in the cabinet and ate a few. There was a vanilla pudding cup on the shelf, so he ate that, too, but had to use a dirty spoon because Rita hadn't been over to clean in ages. Then he poured himself a jigger of vodka and slugged it.

He knew where he was headed next, and it pained him. It really did. He'd hoped that that working on the sculpture would soothe the urge. It hadn't. His body was dying, but the urge was alive, and it swirled through him, driving him on, making him suffer. He remembered how it would go, back in the day, how, when he'd feel this unholy desire for Katharine, he'd just take it out on BettyAnn. It was always pure relief, damn near rapture, and when he was done, the world was back in balance and the fire would mellow to a glow.

But Kat had come back to rub his face in it. She knew what she was doing. She knew how parading in front of him had always tortured him.

The time had come. He had no choice but to extinguish the source of his misery, once and for all.