A Watershed Year by Susan Schoenberger Page A

threat?”
    “Fanaticism is a great motivator,” Lucy says. Harlan looks restless, as though this can’t be the answer.
    “I’m sick,” he says. “The doctor says I’m sick.”

    “DID YOU CHECK OUT the agency?” Rosalee asked over the phone, which had been ringing when Lucy walked into her office back in the Arts and Humanities building. “I’ve been waiting to hear.”
    “I did, and it’s all fine,” Lucy said as she unpacked her book bag and cradled the phone with her shoulder. She had, in fact, made sure no complaints had been filed against Yulia’s agency, though she knew her mother would have been appalled to hear how Yulia had lied to her.
    “You’re absolutely sure?” her mother said.
    “How’re Cokie and Paul?” Lucy asked, willing to go into uncharted territory to avoid talking about the adoption.
    “Well, now that you bring it up,” Rosalee said. “I’m very concerned. Paul’s acting strangely, and Cokie won’t even talk to me on the phone anymore. She just covers the mouthpiece and gets Paul.”
    Lucy murmured her sympathy, expecting her mother to continue. Instead, she heard a long pause.
    “You were there not too long ago,” her mother said. “What’s your take on it?”
    “I have no take on it,” she said, finding it surprisingly easy to avoid the truth. “I’m sure they’re just going through a rough patch.”
    “Well, I hope that’s all it is.”
    “Me, too. Nice talking to you…”
    “Lucy,” her mother said. “You’d tell me if you thought something was wrong, wouldn’t you?”
    “You mean like you always do for me?”
    “I see your point,” Rosalee said. “Good-bye, honey.”
    “Bye, Ma.”

    IT WAS LUCY’S BELIEF that chocolate-covered peanuts were a gift from a higher power. She might even have to tell Louis to include itin his presentation as the sixth way to prove the existence of God. Arnold’s, a drugstore just down the street from the campus, had bins of loose candy that could be scooped into little white paper bags for the purpose of spiritual renewal. She hadn’t visited this altar of comfort since Harlan died, but the bruises of the week—and the fact that she had never managed to eat lunch—put her in the mood for the walk. She left her office and strode down the hill toward the small strip of commercial businesses that catered mainly to students and college employees.
    Arnold’s was a throwback, probably one of the few drugstores in Baltimore still owned by a family instead of a corporation. Lucy appreciated the meticulously organized shelves rising from pine floorboards worn thin and soft, their grains compressed by eighty years of foot traffic. She passed through the air-freshener and cleaning-fluid section, getting a whiff of Mr. Clean before entering the candy aisle, which smelled of chocolate and salt and sugar, with overtones of Maalox. She stood in front of the chocolate-covered-peanuts bin, which was nearly full, but she scanned the other choices, as always: Gummi Worms, chocolate raisins, Red Hots, M&M’s, Gummi Sharks, chocolate caramel peanut clusters, and the dietetic candy, which no one ever seemed to touch.
    She took the metal scoop and filled half of a tiny white bag with chocolate-covered peanuts. Angela came up behind her as she was paying for them.
    “Candy is not a substitute for a man,” Angela said, eyeing the bag.
    “Thanks for the advice,” Lucy said.
    “You think that sugar and fat and salt is just as good?”
    “As a matter of fact, I do.”
    Lucy opened the bag, and Angela grabbed a handful of chocolate-covered peanuts with her right hand. She picked out two with her left hand, ate them delicately, then threw the rest into her mouth.
    “These are evil,” she said.
    “Get your own bag,” Lucy said.
    Angela paid for her sugar-free gum and took another handful of peanuts from Lucy as they walked back to campus.
    “You know what I hate most about being single?” Angela said. “Kix cereal.”
    Lucy said