Claire eats a gray and soggy tuna salad sandwich in the courthouse cafeteria. The room is well-lit and filled with the thunder of journalists writing, of people talking while they drink blood warm coffee and blood warm coke. In the air-conditioning, she is not hot, but she still smells the sweat that has been weaving itself into her lilac dress. She has a spoonful of the pineapples that the cafeteria serves in a cup. They are sweet and soothe her stomach. She's been enduring erratic morning sickness for four months and tries to keep her stomach calm. She pushes the sandwich away and watches the people around her. She sings a song to herself about airplanes.