So he was gone, and a moment of panic, yes. Was he really gone this time? Well, if he was, Ronny had things to do, and he could call later to find out what was what—a lowering, a disappointment in him, but they had made contact again, and it had felt good, his life felt good again, except for the worries. A few minutes later footsteps at the back door, Ben appeared with a newspaper, lifted it to show Ronny, who was on the phone talking to Sheila; he leapt up the stairs light-footed and Ronny watched his shadow disappear. The silliness of it all, that he could feel such a flood of warmth, and that such a feeling could lie alongside the worry he felt over Miss Dee. Sheila was saying, “Last time I was there I noticed how weak she was getting to be.”

“I know. But last night was different. It was like she didn’t really know where she was.”

“Yeah. Leaving the house dressed like that. You want me to come over?”

“Do you have time? I feel like I can’t go in there but I’m worried. I haven’t heard anything from her this morning.”

“You sure she’s still in there?”

“Jesus. I didn’t even think about that.”

“I’ll be over in a minute. Just keep Jamal away from me. Is he seeing anybody else?”

“Not that I’ve noticed.”

She took a deep breath. “Okay. Well. I need to run a comb through my hair and then I’ll be on my way. Maybe I’ll change my skirt. I mean, put on a skirt. Crap.” She was still talking as she hung up.

He was listening at Miss Dee’s door, trying to decide; was she still there? The idea of it all was crushing; that she was so tiny and alone, that her mind was draining out of her, that she lived in a house with boys whose only idea of her was of a cute old landlady in faded dresses; her life had come to this, that she was in need of something, that she was falling, and no one would be here to catch her. This was the way it was, life, spinning and spinning until you lost control, until age caught up with you, until you were frail and tiny, lying in your bedroom, the only room left to you, and you lost a brooch and the fact of the brooch was one too many losses to take and so you searched for it everywhere, you lost yourself searching for something tiny and insignificant, the world slipping into darkness, and you were lying in a bed with your hair fanned out over your pillow, and no one knew whether you were breathing or thirsty or hungry or whether you were alive or dead, and none of it mattered to anyone even if they knew all the facts about you, because there was no one here with whom you had more than a slight connection, a tiny landlady renting rooms. A house in which you had lived once with a husband, and now with strangers. All this thinking in his head. He must have stood there for a while, because when he looked up—when a shadow fell over him—there was Ben, holding the newspaper, watching, frowning.