“No, that’s the last thing on their minds. They’re putting me down. That’s what they’re doing.”

“It’s easy to feel a bit paranoid when you don’t quite understand what people are saying,” suggested Lucy.

“Paranoia? Is that what you think? That I’m paranoid?” She paused. “You know what they say about paranoia. You’re not paranoid when they’re really out to get you.”

“Who’s out to get you?” asked Lucy.

“They all are, especially my coworkers. I know they’re just aching to get rid of me and take my job, they don’t think I deserve it.”

“Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t think she deserves it,” said Lucy, hastening to add, “But you do. You did a super job in Palm Beach.”

“That’s yesterday’s news,” muttered Elizabeth. “Nobody here knows, or cares, about Palm Beach.” She sighed. “I really miss my cute little apartment with all my nice stuff.”

Lucy was busy listening between the lines, suspecting Elizabeth didn’t actually miss her West Palm Beach apartment all that much but did miss her boyfriend, Chris Kennedy. Elizabeth hadn’t been talking about Chris much lately, and Lucy suspected the relationship hadn’t survived the long-distance separation.

“The place I’ve got here is tiny and grotty,” continued Elizabeth, “and I really do have the roommate from hell. Sylvie has taken the bedroom all for herself, and I have to sleep on a fusty old futon. I think I’m allergic to it. And she smokes!”

“It’s a big adjustment, but you’ll manage,” said Lucy, yawning and thinking longingly of her morning cup of coffee. “And you’ll be a better, stronger person for rising to the challenge.”

“Mom, that doesn’t sound like you,” said Elizabeth, finally lightening up. “What have you been smoking?”

“Nothing,” insisted Lucy, “nothing at all. But I did watch Norah on TV yesterday. She had one of those motivational people on. ‘If you dream it, you can do it.’ ”

“It’s not that easy,” said Elizabeth. “Sometimes your dreams turn into nightmares. Or cauchemars. That’s what the French call them.”

Lucy found herself smiling, satisfied that once again she’d talked her daughter off the ledge. “Hang in there, sweetie. Mommy loves you. And Daddy, too.”

“I know,” replied Elizabeth. “Thanks for listening.”

“Anytime,” said Lucy. “But preferably after lunch. Call me after you’ve had lunch. I should just about be finishing my shower then.”

“I promise, Mom. Bye.”

Lucy replaced the handset in its holder and flipped back the covers, getting out of bed. Winter tended to linger well into spring in the coastal Maine town of Tinker’s Cove, and it was chilly in the upstairs bedroom on this mid-March morning, so she quickly put on her robe and slippers and hurried downstairs to join her husband, Bill, in the toasty warm, bacon-scented kitchen.