While he was mopping, Effie came down and stood at the edge of the linoleum. Her hair was wild. “Henry,” she said, surveying the floor. “You sweet thing.”

He stepped over to her, over the wet part he’d already done, and wrapped her in his arms. “How are you feeling?”

“Disgusting,” she said. She turned again to the floor, and laughed. “You didn’t sweep first, did you?”

He hadn’t. And he could see, very clearly now, the wet balls of dust and stray hairs affixed to the linoleum. He took it as a sign of his uselessness. She looked up at him, and laughed again. It was all right, she said. It was helpful. They’d just let it dry, and then she’d sweep and do another quick pass with the mop—later.

She set herself up on the sofa, under the afghan, a box of tissues beside her, and he made her buttered toast and coffee. Her fever had come back in the night, she said, but she felt much better now. She was sweating like crazy, which was a good sign.

He caressed her cheek. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back home? We can still make the train tomorrow. You might be more comfortable in your own bed.”

“God,” she said, “I don’t want to think about that trip. Eighteen hours, three connections. Trying to sleep in that berth.”

“Well—if you’re sure.”

She frowned. “Don’t you want to stay?”

“Of course I do. If you do.”

She asked how the party had been and what she’d missed, and he said not much. The band had been there. There’d been some sing-alongs, a little dancing. He’d left early.

She pouted. “I love sing-alongs.”

Shortly after noon, to Henry’s surprise and alarm, Clara knocked on the door. But she was her usual bright self. “Hello, hello,” she said, and kissed both of his cheeks. He stepped aside to let her in. “How’s my belle?”

“Don’t look at me,” Effie cried from the couch, covering her face with her hands. “I’m hideous.”

“Nonsense,” Clara said. “You’re adorable.” She was wearing her shimmering blue robe, and her presence seemed too big for the little den. She took it in and said, “God, I haven’t been in here in years, since before Holly married. I barely recognize it.”

“Uncle George redecorated,” Henry said.