“We done here?” Mildred had finished her cigarette and begun rubbing her arms with her hands.

Vivian looked back at her, then back down at the clipboard.

“How old is he?”

“How old is who?”

“You said you had a son?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t live with me. What difference does it make how old he is?” Mildred crossed her arms over her chest and jutted out her chin, her eyes narrowed.

Vivian remembered she was supposed to be Shirley from the Census Bureau and forced herself to continue, being careful not to press her luck.

“Yes, you’re right. That is only important if the child lived in the house with you. I’m so used to asking out of habit, sorry. And what is your age?”

“Forty-nine.”

Well, that explained her appearance. But she was three years older than Edward. That was a surprise.

“Well, Mrs. Ta—” Vivian stopped herself as she realized she had started to say Mildred’s married name, and then made a show of checking her clipboard, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fischer. Thank you, Mrs. Fischer, for your time. The Census Bureau understands this is sure a bother.”

She flipped the cover page back down over what she had written, and opened her pocketbook to deposit the pencil. The contents of her purse were in such a state of jumble and disarray that when she lifted the purse flap, a few things flew right out and landed at their feet.

“Oh, for garsh sakes,” Vivian exclaimed, as she reached for the cigarette lighter and packet of Sen-Sen. At the same time, Mildred Fischer Dalton Taggart bent down and picked up Vivian’s driver’s license.

Vivian disliked admitting to personal weaknesses. She’d prefer you just didn’t notice them. One of the things she might not have bragged about was being quick on her feet. She wasn’t clumsy, but she also probably wouldn’t catch anything you threw at her.

“Oh, thank you!” she cried, as both women rose from their bent positions, and Vivian tried to snatch the driver’s license from Mildred’s fingers. But Mildred held firm with those nicotine-stained fingers, pulled the license closer toward her face, and squinted at it.

“Shirley, you said your name was?” Mildred’s tone had gone from generally unfriendly to downright nasty as she looked from the license to Vivian’s face and back again.

Vivian’s heart was pounding as she shoved the lighter and Sen-Sen back into her handbag.

“That’s . . .” She let the word hang in the air and as Mildred’s eyes met hers she made a mad grab for the license, swiping and scratching Mildred’s hand with her Fire & Ice fingernails. But Mildred, counter to her slow lurching to answer the door, had the quick reflexes Vivian did not, and snapped the scratched hand, still holding the license, to her chest. Vivian stared into those angry, muddy-brown eyes, which did happen to match the hair dye, for a split second more before turning on her heel and scrambling down the porch steps, clutching the clipboard and her pocketbook to her torso.