Patty or Daryl must be kicking the hell out of those pineapples. Claire doesn't know how to make them stop so she looks at her watch. 12:15. Her watch is silver and small and elegant and has hands that look like tiny needles circling smoothly. It doesn't tick and she realizes that she's never been surrounded by clocks ticking. No grandfather clocks, no noisy kitchen clocks, no metradomes. In the air conditioning she thinks about the heat outside that feels like summer to her but is really early spring to everyone in Hawaii. For her, time doesn't divide itself into ticks. It unrolls like the tapes in the VCR she just hooked up. It forwards and pauses in stops and starts and seasons that don't exist in Hawaii. She is amazed and a little terrified to think that two weeks ago she was in Xenia drinking coffee and being surprised at the heater's new silence and smelling spring. Two weeks ago Kati Roland was being killed. The shock of Kati Roland's final STOP knocks Claire in the face. It seems that time shatters into crashing disjunctions. Everyone is dizzy rotating around different hubs like electrons around a nucleus. People fall out of orbit and collide, smashing the delicate network of gravity. Claire doesn't belong in Hawaii. She doesn't notice her stomach's new knocking.