Lien stumbled into the store, her arms crossed tightly. Her body was breathless and her thoughts were racing. She was relieved, for she knew her child would be safe under the care of the nuns, but the whole ordeal had left her in a tumultuous state of mind. She needed a place to unwind, to stroll through, to forget. The neon sign of the 7-Eleven promised at least the first two items.

Sweetness had just received some money in the mail from Lula Ann. She could spend it on a fresh deck or cards, or her face cream, but at the moment all she wanted was a Slurpee. She found pleasure in small treats, because the broad strokes of her life—her uncommunicative daughter, her bitter insistence that her parenting methods had been necessary and beneficial—weighed much too heavily on her heart.

Mayor Hanover hadn’t been to a 7-Eleven in years. She was more of a champagne person than a Big Gulp person. But the campaign trail has a way of taking people to places beyond their comfort zones. She and her staff had a half hour to spare between fundraisers, and this cluttered, bright convenience store was the only place they could stop for some refreshments that wouldn’t topple their already strained schedule.

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