Josh kissed his mother's forehead. She smiled and took hold of his hand. Her fingers barely stretched the width. The comforter dropped a couple of inches. She was wearing a flannel nightgown, buttoned to the neck and fastened with a bow. On her nightstand was a collection of pill bottles, a stack of magazines, and a coil-spring hand-grip exerciser.

Josh held onto her hand. She smiled up at him, then turned the smile on me. Gentle blue eyes. None of her children had gotten them.

Josh said, “Here's the mail. Want me to open it?”

She shook her head and reached out. He put the stack on her lap, but she left it there and continued to look at me.

“This is Dr. Delaware,” he said.

I said, “Alex Delaware.” But I didn't hold out my hand because I didn't want to dislodge his. “Thanks for seeing me, Dr. Rosenblatt.”

“Shirley.” Her voice was very weak and talking seemed a great effort, but the word came out clearly. She blinked a couple of times. Her right shoulder was lower than her left and her right eyelid bagged a bit.

She kissed Joshua's hand. Slowly, she said, “You can go, hon.”

He looked at me, then back at her. “Sure?”

Nod.

“Okay, but I'm coming back in half an hour. I already let Mrs. Limberton go to lunch and I don't want you alone for too long.”

“It's okay. She doesn't eat long.”

“I'll make sure she stays all afternoon until I get here—probably not before seven-thirty. I have paperwork. Is that okay, or do you want to eat earlier?”

“Seven-thirty is fine, honey.”

“Chinese?”

She nodded and smiled, let go of his hand.

“I can also get Thai if you want,” he said. “That place on Fifty-sixth.”

“Anything,” she said. “As long as it's with you.” She reached up with both hands and he bent for a hug.

After he straightened, she said, “Bye, sweets.”

“Bye. Take care of yourself.”

One final look at me, and then he was gone.

She pushed a button and propped herself up higher. Took a breath and said, “I'm blessed. Working with kids . . . my own turned out great.”

“I'm sure it wasn't an accident.”

She shrugged. The higher shoulder made it all the way through the gesture. “I don't know . . . so much is chance.”

She pointed to the cane chair.

I pulled it up close and sat down.

“You're a child therapist, too?”

I nodded.

She took a long time to touch her lip. Another while to tap her brow. “I think I've seen your name on articles . . . anxiety?”

“Years ago.”

“Nice to meet you.” Her voice faded. I leaned closer.

“Stroke,” she said and tried to shrug again.

I said, “Josh told me.”

She looked surprised, then amused. “He hasn't told many people. Protecting me. Sweet. All my kids are. But Josh lives at home, we see more of each other . . .”

“Where are the others?”