“What’s a woman’s touch?”

“You know—all the little frills. Keeping things neat. The skills of organization. The different smells.”

“Smells?”

“Something in the air. I can’t explain it. A certain kind of buzz. I find that lacking here lately.” The boy shrugs and stands there holding the broom and dustpan out in front of him. The little chunk of fallen ash catches his attention and he watches it roll gently back and forth between the old man’s leathery feet. He can’t believe he’s missed it. He flicks it into the dustpan with the corner of the broom. “Do you miss your mother?” the old man asks him flatly. The boy is surprised by the electric jolt through the top of his head that the question triggers. The way the whole world stops around him.

“No,” he says.

“You never think about her?”

“No.”

“Well, in any case, I think it’s not a bad idea to ask that young girl if she’d like to earn some extra cash. She could be real helpful around here, a girl like that.”

“What girl?” the boy asks in a trance, picturing his mother’s red hair.

“The waitress girl! The one we’ve been talking about.”

“I can’t ask her something like that.”

“I’ll ask her then. We’ll go down there tonight and I’ll ask her.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes. Why not? We’ll go to supper down at the Inn. Just like before. I’ll order the crispy duck and you can have your tuna melt. We’ll ask her then. What time do you get off today?”

“Same as usual.”

“Good. Come straight home. We’ll shower and dress up. Then we’ll walk to supper down by the river. I like the walk.”

“All right,” the boy says halfheartedly.

“Don’t forget now. Don’t dawdle.”