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Wentworth's desk. I believe in inspiration of the moment, going with the flow, as they say. I placed a hand gently on her shoulder and felt a renewed burst of sobbing. Fabulous. Now what was I to do?
    I cast about the room for any sign of tissue, finally spotting a box tucked onto an alcove shelf near the door. I strode across to it, seized it quickly, and fairly skipped back to the weeping woman. I extracted several tissues and gently placed them in the vicinity of Ms. Wentworth's hands. Thankfully, she took said tissues and lifted them in a clenched fist to pat at her eyes. I stepped back around the desk and stood in the middle of the office, waiting for the waterworks to subside.
    "I'm sorry, Mrs. Browning." She was putting the tissues to good use, rolling the soggy ball around her face and ultimately smearing her mascara into thick black streaks. "I have no idea why I did that." She finished dismantling her makeup and tossed the used tissues into a trash can that sat next to her desk.
    I can recall a dinner that I attended shortly after the publication of my first book. I was nervous amid the company of other authors and publishers, and I was tickled pink to find myself sharing a table with one of my favorite writers. Unfortunately, I spent most of the evening trying not to stare at the glob of pesto sauce trapped in his rather generous moustache, and I admit that I've not been able to read one of his books since without recalling that night. Not to mention that I've permanently been put off of anything slightly resembling pesto since then.
    I looked back at Ms. Wentworth, determined to keep my eyes fixed on hers and not on the abstract art she now sported on her face. Drawing in a deep breath, I said, "It is perfectly fine, Ms. Wentworth. Crying can make us feel better, as odd as that sounds. At least it does me," I added hastily. Lord knows I didn't want to come across as patronizing. I figured if I sounded like I was part of a sisterhood of sobbing, I'd be able to get an explanation out of her.
    "I do appreciate your sentiments, I really do, but there is nothing in this world that will help me to feel better." And with that, Ms. Wentworth broke into tears again.
    I retraced my steps back over to the tissues, this time grabbing the entire box and plopping it down on the desk next to Ms. Wentworth. She blindly reached out for a tissue and managed to knock the box onto the floor. I bent over to pick it up just as she leaned over, and the resulting cracking of heads made me see stars, another cliché that I'd just proven to be true. Between fainting at the park, falling flat on my back, and now risking brain damage, I'd have to make an appointment to see my doctor ASAP.
    "Oh, my goodness! Are you okay, Mrs. Browning? Oh, I am so, so sorry," Ms. Wentworth babbled, thrusting one hand out to steady me as I attempted to gain my feet—and managed to whack me across the nose. I felt, rather than saw, the blood spurt, and that was the last thing I can remember before my knees crumpled, and I once again hit the deck.
    At least this time I was closer to the ground and didn't have as far to fall.
    For the second time that day, I came to with Gregory's face bobbing above mine. Instead of Trixie's incessant yipping this time around, it was Ms. Wentworth's voice that I heard as she squeaked out an apology to my husband. As I gained consciousness, it occurred to me that I was the one who should be apologized to, but that thought was quickly replaced by the concern that my poor nose was possibly broken. I moved a shaky hand towards my schnozz but was stopped by Greg's firm hand.
    "Leave it alone, Caro. You'll only make it bleed again." His voice seemed to come from the far end of a long pipe, echoing around my still swimming head. I forced my eyes fully open, trying to focus on his face. Ms. Wentworth's anxious eyes appeared behind Gregory's head, creating the appearance of a two-headed monster staring down at me. I quickly closed my