She wanted someone to blame. Who? Not her. No. She had done too much of it right. She’d navigated this miserable life, one giant Indonesia-sized archipelago of indignities. She’d refrained from running over all of the horrid children and their parents. She’d never raised her voice at the harpies who’d pulled their children away from Simone in the playground. She hadn’t taken a pen from her purse and stabbed any of the people who’d passed their hands freely through her daughter’s hair. She hadn’t burned down the university when it overlooked her for tenure. She hadn’t driven south to buy a gun
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