He wondered why she chose today to start using it again. Was she really that much healthier?

She pressed the lift button with a quivering hand and began to descend, the motorized whine loud in the otherwise quiet house.

As she reached a beam of early morning sunlight, he saw how much younger she looked than she had when he first returned. Like she'd lost a good twenty years. She didn't need as much makeup and the lines and furrows in her face and neck had softened.

If this was the effect of their ritual, he could see why they did it. He knew at least a few rich Manhattanites who would murder a baby or two if the result was eternal youth.

"Well? Too busy to call, were you? Don't you know you frightened poor Norma just about to death?"

"Sorry, Ma. We got in a little fender-bender. I would have called but—"

"Never you mind. You've been put through the ringer enough, by the look."

The lift stopped at the bottom and Ruby grasped her cane with palsied hands. His immediate feelings were sympathetic. Were the tremors an act? Did she even need the lift anymore? The cane? He thought again of dragging her to her feet and forcing her to stand on her own—but if he was wrong, he wouldn't be able to live with himself if she broke a bone.

Not that either of them had much longer to live, with Barclay in the living room and Clarabelle across the street, aiming her rifle.

"Here, Ma, let me help you with that."

"I've gotten along just fine without you all these years. Woe betide you for implying otherwise." Her fingers were less gnarled, he noticed. The grip firmer. She pushed herself up with a groan, but it seemed habitual, not a response to pain. Like when he bent deep to pick up something from the floor.

He glanced into the darkened living room. Ruby followed his gaze.

"Looking for something?"

"Just making sure I don't forget to pack anything."

She squinted into the dimness. From the angle, Barclay wasn't visible to either of them. She seemed not to see anything and turned away brusquely.

"Heaven forbid you had to come back for something. Norma would pitch a fit."

She shuffled toward the kitchen, lifting and lowering the cane with heavy thuds and taking tiny steps alongside it, her slippers swishing on the hardwood. He followed her. If she was faking it, she was doing a damn good job. Anyone who didn't know her as well as he did would have been fooled.

"Morning, Ruby," Sheila said, smiling cheerfully.

Norma rose in her chair. Sheila laid a hand on her shoulder. "Sit," she said. "You've been on your feet all morning. It's about time we serve you for a change."

Norma didn't put up a fight. She smiled to herself as Sheila went to the cupboard and got some plates. Martin pulled a chair out for Ruby, one at the head of the table, in direct view of the window.