In another neighborhood there might have been pictures of pilgrims or Thanksgiving turkeys drawn by children in the downstairs windows, but A Street boasted only adult decorations. The houses were too small for families with teenagers and too expensive for families just starting out. A Street was devoid of backyard swings and the clatter of kids racing over its brick sidewalks. It was something Kate had never noticed… until now. It seemed like a simple observation, but it hit Kate in the pit of her stomach. And she wasn’t sure why. She leaned forward in her chair, nose almost pressed against the glass, and wondered where all the children were. Had they all been exported to the suburbs? To the large yards of northern Virginia? Were they living in the bigger houses of northwest Washington?

Emily Pearson saw Kate at the window and waved. She was Kate’s age, maybe a little older. A lawyer. Kate waved back and wondered if Emily wanted kids. Emily, with the appropriate door decorations and matching planters and clean windows. Emily would make a great mother. Unlike me, Kate thought. I’d probably misplace my kids on the way to rehearsal and get arrested for abandonment.

As Kate stared outside, Elsie walked past the window. She marched up the front stairs, let herself in, hung her coat on the rack in the foyer, and dropped a white paper bag into Kate’s lap. “I’m off my shift, and I brought you a burger.”

Kate unpeeled the wrapper. “Everyone’s trying to feed me today.”

“That’s ’cause you’re so skinny. Everybody takes pity on you.”

Kate smiled. She was getting used to Elsie: rough on the outside, soft on the inside.

“This looks good,” Kate said. Lettuce, tomato, paper-thin onion, slices of dill pickle, melted cheese, mustard, ketchup, grilled sesame seed bun, and an inch-and-a-half-thick grilled hamburger. She chomped into it and closed her eyes. “Yum.”

Elsie folded her arms across her chest and looked down at Kate. “We need to talk.”

A glob of ketchup emerged from the back end of the hamburger and slopped over Kate’s fingers. It mixed with pickle juice and dribbled onto the paper bag spread across her lap.

Elsie made a disapproving sound and pressed on. “Not that it’s any of my business, but do you always sleep next door?”

“Not always.”

“Well, there’s things you should know about him. He comes into the café all the time, all hours of the day, and he never wears a suit. I got it figured out though. I think he’s a spy.”

“Why do you think he’s a spy?”