BUT somewhere along the way, our lives had shrunk. Charlotte became as fanatic about building up her compost heap as she'd ever been about fighting injustice. She worried about the pH of her soil, and put out cups of beer to drown the slugs. Now I took care of her children because she hadn't been careful enough to stay alive. And I was no better. My life had meant so little to me that the first chance I got, I walked out on it. By the time I was through pulling everything up from the ground, Nan was nowhere in sight. In minutes, I'd destroyed Charlotte's garden. When I finished, my hands were raw and I felt no triumph. How could I ever have thought that tired patch of earth was my enemy?