Most days we stop in at the Lovin’ Oven bakery. Will’s popular there, and the owner seems to like me. My baker’s gone mountain biking again, she often tells me in a flurry of flour. When are you going to come work for me? I can’t tell if she’s joking. Will hears the little bell over the door of the bakery, blinkss up at the direction of it with his soft brown eyes as we go in. It’s an easy place to go with him when I’m sleep-deprived—not that I mind, not that I’d change anything. Other women at the playgroups complain all the time about having to get up twice a night. I understand it, I even join in and laugh, but I don’t tell them how lucky they are, how the loss of sleep is a blessing, how nearly I was robbed of it all. At 3:00 a.m. with Will, the light between us is spectered and silver, our own precious metal. Here I am, I think as I feed him, a mother in the world. Beaten about but doing okay now.

Today when I enter the Lovin’ Oven, Sully’s there at a table by himself, reading a dog-eared novel, sipping black coffee from his Gravy mug. I fumble a little with my change. I don’t know if he’ll want to talk to me, but when I turn, he’s closing his book. He’s seen me. Of course he has.

“Hi.” I head over and stand next to his table. His hair’s an inch longer than when I last saw him, three weeks ago, when he helped me load my things into Chase’s car. It makes him look scruffier. “Long time no see.”

He nods. “How have you been, Ruth? You look well. Want to join me for a minute?”

I ease slowly onto the bench, turning so that Will also fits in. Sully tilts his head to take in Will’s face, smiles a little.

“What’s your book about?” I ask, because I don’t know what else to say. We’ve lived through each other’s worst days, witnessed each other’s heartbreaks. It was too heavy to suddenly be light.

“It’s about a stranger who comes to town.” His smile is bittersweet.

“Oh,” I say. And then: “Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he says. “So you’re sticking around? Where are you living?”

“In one of the town houses near the bridge and the park. It’s a short walk from Chase’s loft.” I pause. “It’s not mine or anything. Morris found it for me—the government helps me pay rent.”

“Morris is probably terrified you’ll go to the press,” Sully says. “You could, you know.”