Thomas pressed thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose, tried to massage away the ache. From over fences, a masculine voice shouted at what must have been the swimming children. Thomas could almost see the water making oil of sunlight. He could almost smell the chlorine.

He knocked again, harder and faster.

Quiet.

She probably was in San Francisco. She probably took a cab to the train station. Or maybe she went with what's-his-face, that young intern at her agency—didn't he live somewhere in Peekskill? He probably picked her up. Maybe Neil hadn't said anything about seeing Nora. There was no—

Thomas grasped the cool knob, twisted… only to have the door yanked out of his hands.

'Tommy—' Nora said, blinking at the ambient brightness beyond the eaves. She had a nimble brunette's face, with a model's pillow lips and large, hazel eyes that promised honesty and a shrewd accounting of favors. Her straight, short hair was as Irish fine as her skin was Irish pale. Staring at her, Thomas suddenly remembered dreaming of their wedding reception that very morning, and it seemed she had looked the way she looked now, like yearning, like sanctuary and regret…

Like the only woman he had ever truly loved.

'I-I can explain,' she said.

'Have you been crying?' Thomas asked. Beyond the confounded emotions, he felt relieved to the point of sobbing. At least she was safe. At least she was safe.

What the hell was he thinking? Neil a psychopath?

She itched an eye. 'No,' she said. 'What are you doing here? Where are the kids? Is everything okay?'

'The kids are fine. They're with Mia. I came… ah…'

She watched him.

'I came because Neil stopped by last night. He mentioned something about seeing you.' Thomas smiled, finally finding his stride. 'Since you'd told me you were going to San Francisco I thought I'd swing by to make sure everything is alright. Is everything alright?'

The question seemed to catch her off-guard, or perhaps it was the intensity of his concern. 'Everything's fine,' she said with a sour what's-this-really-about smile.

A strange moment passed between them as he stepped into the foyer, a memory of forgotten intimacy, perhaps. Their eyes locked.

'The San Francisco trip was bullshit, wasn't it?'

'Yes,' she said.

The exchange had been completely involuntary, or so it seemed to Thomas.

'Why, Nora? Why lie?' Resentment was back in the driver's seat.

Not like this… C'mon, you know better.

'Because…' Nora said lamely.

'Because… Christ, Nora, even fucking Frankie could do better than that.'

'Don't say that. Don't say "fucking Frankie".' You know I hate it when you say that.'

'How about San-fucking-Francisco? Or does that get under your skin too?'