A shiny silver Taurus, a rental car from Hertz, pulled up in front of our house on Fifth Street.

Christine Johnson got out, and though she looked a little severe with her hair pulled back in a tight bun, I had to admit that she was a beautiful woman. Tall and slender, with distinct, sculpted features that I couldn’t make myself forget. Seeing her again made my heart catch in spite of what had happened between us.

I was edgy, but also tired. Why was that? I wondered how much energy I’d lost in the past year and a half. A doctor friend from Johns Hopkins has a half-serious theory that our life lines are written on the palms of our hands. He swears he can chart stress, illnesses, general health. I visited him a few weeks ago, and Bernie Stringer said I was in excellent physical shape, but that my life lines had taken a beating in the last year. That was partly because of Christine, our relationship, and the breakup.

I was standing behind the protective screen of the front door, with Alex in my arms. I stepped outside as Christine approached the house. She was wearing heels and a dark blue suit.

“Say hi,” I said to Alex, and waved one of his arms at his mother.

It was so strange, so completely unnerving to see Christine like this again. We had such a complicated history. Much of it was good, but what was bad was very bad. Her husband had been killed in her house during a case I was working on. I had nearly been responsible for her death. Now we were living thousands of miles apart. Why was she in D.C. again? To see Little Alex, of course. But what else had brought her?

“Hello, Alex,” she said, and smiled, and for a dizzying instant it was as if nothing had changed between us. I remembered the first time I had seen her, when she was still the principal at the Sojourner Truth School. She’d taken my breath away. Unfortunately, I guess, she still did.

Christine knelt at the foot of the stairs and spread her arms. “Hi, you handsome guy,” she said to Little Alex.

I set him down and let him decide what to do next. He looked up at me and laughed. Then he chose Christine’s beckoning smile, chose her warmth and charm—and went right into her arms.

“Hello, baby,” she whispered. “I missed you so much. You’ve grown so big.”

Christine hadn’t brought a gift, no bribes, and I liked that. It was just her, no tricks or gimmicks, but that was enough. In seconds, Alex was laughing and talking up a storm. They looked good together, mother and son.

“I’ll be inside,” I said, after I watched them for a moment. “Come in when you want. There’s fresh coffee. Nana’s. Breakfast if you haven’t eaten.”