Chapter 9Cara stared out the window over the sink as she washed her dishes from dinner. The courtyard looked barren and cold, perhaps not even fit for human habitation. It was now March and, although the calendar promised spring was but a couple weeks away, the view before her told her the calendar was a liar. The trees reached to a leaden sky like skeletal fingers, as though praying or begging for sun. The grass was brownish, yellow in some spots, covered with stubborn mounds of charcoal-colored snow in others. The flower beds around the perimeter were empty of color and life, filled with mud. The fountain in the center was dry.
She set the last plate in the drainer next to the sink. Yes, there was a dishwasher just below that dish drainer, but Cara didn’t mind washing up. She was the on
