Some things, when they change, never do return to the way they once were. Butterflies for instance, and women who've been in love with the wrong man too often.

A woman who acts as if she knows what she's doing gets what she wants.

The aunts are so old it's impossible to tell their age. Their hair is white and their spines are crooked. They wear long black skirts and laced leather boots. Though they haven't left Massachusetts in more than forty years, they're certainly not intimidated by travel. Or anything else, for that matter. They know what they want and they're not afraid to be outspoken.

For six months I did what women do: I waited. This is what women are taught to be good at. It's said that a woman's life is merely preparation for the primal nine-month wait. Whatever the reason, they do it well. Sometimes they drink or bite their fingernails down to the wrist. They count stars and initials and wait: for something to happen, for something to pass, to change, to begin, to end.