A week passed in an aberrant mix of days and nights, but she allowed sleep to confuse her. Then she stared at the empty pillow next to her at five thirty Friday morning and figured it out: she’d work her way out of this hole, prove her worth. She rose from the bed, showered, ripped the bandages off her side and ignored the pain. No use in complaining about it; time to fix all this. Time to fix it.

She dressed in her pearl gray wool slacks with the matching blazer over a black V-neck sweater. She slid on gray suede pumps and walked to the kitchen to cook omelets, biscuits and sausage, squeeze fresh orange juice. She set the breakfast table with the fine china, brought out the real silver and cloth napkins—no eating at the breakfast bar in a hurry, no quick half-toasted bagels for Molly and Phil. She would labor her way out of this crisis and make Phil listen to her. She would prove her value and stamina; prove . . . she loved them. There was no other way for Phil to know, since she couldn’t tell him; he wouldn’t believe her.

Molly stumbled into the kitchen at six thirty, rubbing her eyes, pulling at the tank top of her pajamas.

“Mom, what are you doing? I don’t have to get up for like another half hour and you are banging away down here, and you’re all . . . dressed up. Did I miss something?”

“No, hon.” She kissed Molly on the side of her mouth. “I just wanted to get up and cook you and Dad a special breakfast. I feel so much better . . . and I missed getting up with you.”

“Wow. This is a lot of food.” Molly looked around the kitchen, waved her hand over the table. “Is someone else coming or something?”

“No, it’s for you and Dad.”

“Jeez, I can barely choke down a Pop-Tart in the morning.”

“Not this morning. We’re all going to sit down and enjoy each other, enjoy breakfast. Then, starting today, I am going to clean out every single closet in the house—get our lives in order.”

“Don’t you dare touch my closet. No way.”

“Hiding something, Molly?”

“No, I just have everything the way I like it. The last time you cleaned out my room, you threw away all the good stuff and kept all the stupid baby stuff. I never did find my bird’s nest.”

“It smelled.”

“Just stay out of my room.”

“No promises.”

“I’m getting a lock and keeping the only key. Lucky Jack, you can’t get into his dorm room.”

“Go get ready for school. I’ll wake Dad up for breakfast.”