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As she looked around the house, Lucy realized there was nothing left to do. Four days of steady work, fueled no doubt by postholiday letdown and premenstrual hormones, had wrought a miracle. Call Country Homes magazine, she thought to herself, send photographers immediately. This will probably never happen again. As she wandered from room to room, admiring the handsome antiques she and Bill had collected over the years, the afternoon stretched emptily ahead of her. Sara had a play date at a friend’s house and wouldn’t be coming home. Lucy climbed upstairs to change out of her grubby cleaning clothes, thinking perhaps she would spend the afternoon checking out the after-holiday sales in Portland, and noticed the bags of outgrown clothes piled on the landing.

There were some nice things in those bags: warm footed pajamas, cozy sweat suits, winter jackets, and even a pair of hardly worn snow boots bought late last winter that Sara couldn’t cram her feet into this year. Lucy hated just to toss those things in a Salvation Army bin; she tried to think of someone she knew who could use them. Unfortunately none of her friends had girls younger than Sara, and her playmates all wore clothes larger than the things in the bags. Then she remembered Lisa Young’s little girl. Surely she could use those clothes. Her thoughts were interrupted by Bill’s voice.

“Lucy, are you home?”

“What are you doing home this time of day?” she asked, bounding down the stairs.

“I’m looking for some lunch, woman. Where’s Sara?”

“At Caroline’s.”

“You’re alone? There are no kids?” Bill was like a bird dog catching scent of a hot trail.

“That’s right,” Lucy admitted.

“Thank you, God,” he said, reaching for her.

“Sorry, Romeo. It’s the first day of my period.”

“Why do you have to sound so pleased about it?” complained Bill, dropping his arms. “What’s for lunch?”

“Turkey soup—homemade.” Lucy hauled a big enamel pot out of the refrigerator. “And tuna fish sandwiches.”

“I guess you’re not such a bad wife after all,” Bill conceded. “So what’re you going to do this afternoon? Curl up on the couch with the kittens and a mystery?”

“I thought I’d drop off those outgrown clothes down Bump’s River Road.”

“Bump’s River Road? I don’t want you going down there,” said Bill.

“I’ve already been down there,” Lucy said. “That’s where I got the kittens.” She picked up Mac, who had climbed up her pant leg following the tuna fumes, and scratched his head.