Molly lifted the dog into her lap and bent her head to croon soft baby talk to her. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Pooh. A good, sweet doggy girl. Do you love Molly? Molly loves you, doggy girl.”

Dark strands of her hair mingled with Pooh’s white fur. As Molly laid her cheek on the powder-puff softness of her topknot, Pooh licked her chin. It had been a long time since anyone had kissed her, and she kept her face where it was so Pooh could do it again.

The door to her right opened. A large man entered, and she quickly set Pooh down. The room was dimly lit, and he didn’t see Molly as he walked over to the telephone that sat on a table next to the sofa. Before he could dial, however, Pooh bounced over to greet him.

“Damn. Down, dawg!”

To avoid any social awkwardness, Molly politely cleared her throat and stood. “She won’t bite you.”

The man replaced the receiver and looked over at her. She saw that he had a nice smile.

“Are you sure about that? She seems pretty fierce to me.”

“Her name is Pooh.”

“As a matter of fact, she and I’ve already met, but I don’t think the two of us have been introduced.” He came toward her. “I’m Dan Calebow.”

“How do you do. I’m Molly Somerville.” She extended her hand, and he shook it solemnly.

“Hello, Miz Molly. You must be Phoebe’s sister.”

“I’m Phoebe’s half sister,” she stressed. “We had different mothers, and we’re not at all alike.”

“I can see that. You’re up kind of late, aren’t you?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“It’s pretty noisy. Did you get to meet the players and their families?”

“Phoebe wouldn’t let me.” She wasn’t certain why she felt compelled to lie, but she didn’t want to tell him she was the one who had refused to go outside.

“Why not?”

“She’s very strict. Besides, I’m not fond of parties. Actually, I’m a solitary person. I’m planning to be a writer when I grow up.”

“Is that so?”

“I’m currently reading Dostoyevski.”

“You don’t say.”

She was running out of conversation, and she cast about for another topic to hold his attention. “I can’t imagine they’ll study Dostoyevski at my new school. I start there on Wednesday. It’s a public school, you know. Boys go there.”

“Haven’t you ever gone to school with boys?”

“No.”

“A pretty girl like you should get along just fine.”

“Thank you, but I know I’m not really pretty. Not like Phoebe.”

“Of course you’re not pretty like Phoebe. You’re pretty in your own way. That’s the best thing about women. Each one has her own way about her.”