Pru planned to have her panic attack tomorrow. For now, she unfurled herself along the bed, spine uncoiling from having slept in a tight little ball of anxiety. Sunrise was imminent, and the symphony of frogs and crickets outside welcomed her to the calm before the storm. The Lower Georgia Symphonic Orchestra’s conductor, Martin, was planning for the whole orchestra to sight-read a brand-new piece today. She fully expected his frustration to quickly build into a gale-force squall.

Rolling over, Pru gazed, bleary from sleep, out the window, watching the black early morning turn dark blue, then periwinkle. In her periphery, she spotted the chain-link fence, the same kind that separated all the houses in the neighborhood. Wisteria twisted its way through the links, impossibly enormous purple blooms fighting for sunlight.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, pushed aside the tangle of blonde hair that obscured her vision, and stood. “C’mon, Matilda.”

Matilda lifted her boxy head, thumped her tail a few times, and resumed snoring.

Pru stepped over the yellow lab and grabbed her pink kimono from where it was draped over the spindle-backed chair she used for cello practice. She closed it tightly enough to cover her breasts, which she’d long felt were too ample in proportion to her tiny waist. She had to wrap the tie around twice.

She made her way into her apartment’s square kitchen where the vinyl flooring curled up from the floorboards in one corner in its battle with humidity. Pru filled and set the electric kettle, then craned her head back toward the bedroom. “Mattie, wake up.”

A still-groggy Matilda loped into view, propelled by slow wagging, and parked herself by the sliding door in the living room. When Pru opened the door, the dog came alive and barreled outside before sliding to a stop halfway across the yard and sniffing around. Large mosquitoes hovered over a puddle a few feet ahead, and an ominous-looking wasp nest took up real estate on the beam separating Pru’s side of the cracked concrete duplex patio from Tommy’s. The strong, citrusy smell of the blooming magnolia tree in the middle of the yard blended with the heady, cloying wisteria, leaving a thick, velvety texture that coated her tongue. Sunlight radiated its pink, then orange glow across the scraggly lawn. It shone through the blossoms and branches, still wet from last night’s rain. Birds began to call to each other.

If things could stay just like this, Pru thought she’d be okay with being alone. And after today, she would be.

In the patchy Bermuda grass, no-see-ums pricked at her ankles as she headed to the fence full of wisteria. She admired the plant’s insistence. Once it dug in its roots, the twining, woody vine was there forever, expanding its claim on the land and fighting back when anyone tried to rein it in or kill it. It always found its way back, bigger and more deeply colored than before. Pru worked her fingers around a couple of stems and pulled them off, her mind wandering to her possible plans to leave the Lower Georgia Symphonic Orchestra once and for all.

However, leaving would mean searching for some other state orchestra to play in, which would mean auditions and the expense of moving. She’d also be that much farther away from Uncle Barney down in Florida, as well as her only three friends in the world.

Joe kept saying she should go to mixers and ladies’ nights at Rooster’s Liquor Lounge, but crowds and cacophony were panic triggers, and bringing Matilda along in her orange service dog vest would scream “Defective, needy woman seeks loving relationship.” Besides, if a man came home with her, he’d just run away when he saw her body. What was it like to be comfortable in one’s own skin and with one’s own company?