Not anymore. It was time for a change.

The snick of the scissors was oddly satisfying.

* * *

ON THE FOURTH Thursday of every      month, in an effort to earn her heavenly reward, Honor volunteered at Rushing      Creek, the assisted living facility at the edge of Manningsport. This Thursday,      Goggy had come with her.

In the past year, Goggy and Pops had aged a little, as one      would expect with people in their eighties. They were both still strong as oxen,      but Goggy seemed more forgetful these days, and Honor could swear Pops limped on      rainy days. Any day now, she worried, one of them might tumble down the steep,      narrow staircases of the Old House, which was something of a death trap, full of      the twists and turns characteristic of colonials. They didn’t use two-thirds of      the rooms, and the house would never pass inspection, not with Pops having      nailed the front door closed last winter “to help with the drafts.”

It was Honor’s hope that they’d willingly move to a brighter,      smaller place before one of them had an accident.

“I’ll kill myself before I come to a place like this,” Goggy      pronounced dramatically when she came through the doors. A resident in a      wheelchair glared before zipping down the hall in speedy moral outrage. Rushing      Creek was comparable to the nicest luxury apartments in Manhattan, but Goggy      viewed it like a Dickensian asylum.

“Let’s try to use our inside voices, okay?” Honor said. “I love      it here. I’m counting the years before I can move in.”

“I’d kill myself. Oh, hello,      Mildred! How are you?”

“Hello, Elizabeth!” Mildred said. “And Honor! You cut your      hair! Oh, no! Why, honey, why?”

“Thank you,” Honor said. Okay, so the haircut was a bit      radical. But that had been the point. And yes, she’d gone to Corning, to a      stylish, somewhat frightening place where a professional had stared in horror      before shaping up her cropped hair.

Now it was no longer than the nape of her neck. Relieved of its      weight, little wisps sprang up here and there, and if it was a shock, Honor told      herself she’d like it eventually. Dad pretended to after his initial      chest-clutching; Mrs. Johnson growled; Goggy wept; Pops, Pru and Jack had yet to      notice. Faith, at least, had seemed genuinely enthusiastic, clapping her hands.      “It’s so chic, Honor! And look at your cheekbones! You’re gorgeous!” Which, of      course, she wasn’t, but she appreciated the support.

“So...different!” Mildred said. “Anyway, dear, congratulations      on your sister getting married.”

“Thanks. Levi’s a great guy.”

“I bet they’ll have babies any day.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Mildred gave her a conspiratorial look. “And you, dear? Anyone      special for you?”

“No, not at the moment.”

“Such a shame. Why are you here, then, darling? Elizabeth, are      you and John thinking of moving here?”

Goggy jerked back. “Oh, my heavens, no! We’re just fine in our      house. I hope to God I never have to resort to this.”

“Goggy.” Honor sighed, then smiled at Mildred “We’re showing       A Walk in the Clouds today. Have you seen it?      Very romantic.”

“I haven’t,” Mildred said with a dirty look at Goggy. “The last      time I saw a movie with these old people, half were gabbing through the whole      thing and the other half couldn’t hear. Good luck!”

Between Goggy and Mildred, Honor noted, it did seem to be a      habit to want to distance oneself from the capriciousness of aging. Look at Ellington, he still pretends he doesn’t need glasses.       Walked into a post last week. Or, Did you hear       about Leona? Alzheimer’s. Thank God I’m still as sharp as a...what was I       saying again?

Sort of like single women, Honor thought. Rather than admit      they were all desperately seeking someone—like the cannibals chasing Viggo      Mortensen in that dreadful movie she watched last night—there were all sorts of      excuses. I’m getting over a long-term relationship      was a good one. I wish I had time for a relationship!      was another. And then the ultimate lie, If the right       guy came along, maybe. But I’m happy on my own. Sure. Which was why      those dating sites had half the planet registered.

No, honesty seemed frowned upon in Dating Life. Honor wondered      what would happen if she said, I really thought I’d have a       family by now. I’m lonely. Also a little horny, and since the man I love is       marrying my former best friend, I may have to invest in a superdeluxe       vibrator.

“Come on,” Goggy said. “Let’s get this movie over with before      someone comes to lock me up. They use restraints, I hear.”

“Honor! How are you?” asked Cathy      Kennedy, who didn’t live here but came in for the movies. “Honey, Louise and I      happened to be at O’Rourke’s the other night. Such a surprise.”

Honor’s face heated in a rush. “Well, you know. It’s a little      quiet in the winter here. I was just trying to liven things up.” Mercifully, it      was time for her to get the film going.

Honor had started the Watch and Wine club a couple of years      ago: show a movie that had even a little bit of wine in it and pair it with a      themed tasting. For Uncorked, they’d of course had      the Chateau Montelena chardonnay. Pinot noir for Sideways. A full-bodied cab for Twilight, though the combination of wine and Taylor Lautner’s torso      had proved too much for some, and 9-1-1 had to be called when Mrs. Griggs      fainted.

The monthly gathering had almost immediately been renamed Watch      and Whine, given the propensity of the viewers to discuss their most recent      health issues, peppering Honor with questions, which she (and her iPad) did      their best to answer. Hey. It was a hobby, and one she’d listed on Match.com.       Visits the sick and imprisoned.

As Honor set up the film in the projector in the gorgeous      auditorium, Goggy sat on one of the plush seats, sighing dramatically. “Just put      a pillow over my face if it ever comes to this,” she said.

“Goggy, you told Faith you wouldn’t mind a new place,” Honor      said. “Remember? When she was moving into the Opera House?”

“Oh, I meant a place without your grandfather. But the old fool      wouldn’t last a week without me. He’d starve to death. I honestly don’t know if      he could find the refrigerator on his own.” She paused. “It’s a thought.” Goggy      suddenly sat bolt upright. “Speaking of miserable marriages, I found someone for      you!”

Honor gave her a wary look. “Uh, that’s okay, Goggy.” Goggy had      recently suggested she marry Bobby McIntosh “before he ended up a serial      killer.”

“No, he’s wonderful! You should meet him. Plus, it would help      you get over you-know-who. And then you could get married and give me some more      great-grandchildren.”

The projector’s lightbulb was out. Was there another one? She      opened the drawer of the AV cart. Bingo. “Just for the sake of conversation, who      is this future husband of mine?”

“You remember Candace, my old friend? She moved to Philadelphia      in 1955? They drove that enormous Packard?”

Honor gave her grandmother a quizzical look. “I wasn’t born      then, Goggy. So no, I don’t remember.”

“Well, before I married your idiot grandfather—”

“You make it sound so romantic.”

“Hush up and listen. Before I married your idiot grandfather, I      was engaged to Candace’s brother. He died in the war.” She gave Honor a regal,      suffering look, perfected from years of practice.

“I know, Goggy. It’s such a sweet, sad story.”

Goggy’s face softened. “Thank you. Anyway, Candace also had a      sister, but she was older and stayed in England.”

“Uh-huh.” What this had to do with matchmaking was anyone’s      guess, but such was the mind of Goggy. Honor unscrewed the burned-out lightbulb      with some difficulty.

“So this sister had a son, and then that son had a son, and      Candace just adores him, and anyway, the boy’s been living here for a few years      and he needs a green card.”

Honor squinted, trying to filter through the bundle of      facts.

“So you should marry him. Nothing wrong with an arranged      marriage.”

“As in, you and Pops worked out so well?” She opened the drawer      on the cart and took out a replacement bulb.

The old lady chuffed. “Please. You want to be married, or you      want to be happy?”

“Both?”

Goggy snorted. “You young people. So spoiled. Anyway, there’s      nothing wrong with this boy. He’s very nice and extremely good-looking.”

Honor screwed in the new lightbulb. “Have you ever met      him?”

“No. But he is.”

“Seen a picture?”

“No. Charming, too.”

“So you’ve talked to him on the phone?”

“No.”

“Facebook? Email?”

“No, Honor. You know I don’t believe in computers.”

“Hi there, Honor,” called Mr. Christian from the back of the      auditorium. “Heard you were in a girl fight the other day.”

“Thanks for bringing it up,” Honor said. “Anyway, Goggy, it      sounds like you really don’t know this person at all.”

“What’s to know? He’s British.”

“That may or may not help his case. If he sounds like Prince      Charles, there’s no way in hell I’ll marry him. Does he have those big      teeth?”

“Don’t be so superficial, honey! He’s a professor,” Goggy      added. “Electrical engineering or math or something.”

An image of Honor’s own math teacher in college, a damp man      with onion breath, came to mind.

“So he needs a green card,” Goggy said, “you’re single, and you      two should get married.”

“Okay, first of all, sure, I’d love to get married if I met      someone great and fell in love, but if that doesn’t happen, I’m fine on my own.”      Oh, the lies. “Secondly, I don’t want to get married just to check it off a      list. And thirdly, I’m pretty sure marrying for a green card is illegal.” She      paused. “Why doesn’t he just go back to England?”

“There was a tragedy.” Another triumphant look from Goggy.

“What kind?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter, Honor? You’re thirty-five.      That’s when the eggs start spoiling. That’s when I started menopause.” Oh, snap.      “Besides, if I can stay married to your grandfather for sixty-five years and not      have murdered him yet, why can’t you do the same with this boy?”

“How old is this person? You keep calling him a boy.”

“I don’t know. Anyone under sixty is a boy to me.”

“So he’s a math teacher and distantly related to an old friend      of yours, and that’s all you’ve got on him?”