“Yeah,” he murmured, drew in a breath that expanded his broad chest, something that made me feel odd things, things I quit feeling when he finished, “Later, Amy.”

It struck me then that his kids were supposed to call me Miz Hathaway.

But they’d been calling me Amy.

And he’d said nothing.

I didn’t mention this.

I said, “Later, Mickey.”

He lifted his chin and turned away.

I watched him walk, doing this taking in the natural control he had over his body, thus doing it enjoying it, and I knew I should go in. I knew I shouldn’t stand out there and watch them drive away.

But I stood out there and watched them drive away.

I even did it waving and smiling.

They were making the turn onto the street when I jumped because I heard, “Your fellow is quite good-looking, Amelia.”

I looked down at Mrs. McMurphy, who was wearing a bulky winter coat and standing beside me.

“He’s not—” I started but stopped when she leaned into me.

“Don’t let him loose. Smart woman never lets go of a good man,” she advised.

I stared because I realized we were having a relatively normal conversation and she’d called me Amelia, something she never called me.

Then she shivered, even though it was a sunny, summer day, and looked to the heavens.

She then turned, smartly snapped open an umbrella that had come loose from two of its prongs, put it over her head and started walking away.

I kept staring then I jolted because Mrs. McMurphy had somehow slipped through the admittedly dreadful security keeping the old folks inside and safe, and she was ambling away in a cold thunderstorm that was not happening.

“Wait!” I exclaimed, starting after her.

She turned and brandished her umbrella at me. “Don’t get near me, you Nazi!” She swung the umbrella wide and shouted, “Death to Hitler!”

I managed not to laugh as I also managed to corral a cantankerous Nazi-hating old lady back into her nice, but still slightly shabby, home for the elderly.

Chapter Ten

They Spoke to Me

The Friday my children were to return to me, when I heard the garage door go up, I did not rush to the door leading to the garage, open it and stand in it, waiting.

I continued doing what I was doing in the kitchen.

So when my kids came through the door, I was there, waiting for them, glad they were home, but not showing them I was waiting for them.

But I did show them I was glad they were home.

I did this looking to the side, smiling wide, and calling, “Hey, honeys.”

Auden looked to me.

Olympia shuffled behind him to get out of the way of the closing door.

“Come here, would you?” I asked, rolling dough in my hands that was going to be sugar cookies with M&Ms, another of their favorites.