Her friend Janine, who was still stung over SKIFSA’S condemnation of her own book, was upset that Molly hadn’t told Birdcage to go to hell, but Janine had a husband who made their mortgage payment every month.

“The kids miss you,” Phoebe said.

“I’ll call them tonight. I promise.”

She did call them, and she managed to do all right with the twins and Andrew. But Hannah broke her heart.

“It’s because of me, isn’t it, Aunt Molly?” she whispered. “That’s why you don’t want to come over anymore. It’s because the last time you were here, I said I was sad that your baby died.”

“Oh, sweetheart …”

“I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to talk about the baby. I promise, I won’t ever, ever say anything again.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, love. I’ll come over this weekend. We’ll have a great time.”

But the trip only made her feel worse. She hated being responsible for the worry that clouded Phoebe’s face, and she couldn’t bear the soft, considerate way Dan spoke to her, as if he were afraid she would shatter. Being with the children was even more painful. As they looped their arms around her waist and demanded she come with them to see their newest projects, she could barely breathe.

The family was tearing her apart with their love. She left as soon as she could.

May slid into June. Molly sat down a dozen times to work on the drawings, but her normally agile pen refused to move. She tried to come up with an idea for a Chik article, but her mind was as empty as her bank account. She could make her mortgage payments through July, but that was all.

As one June day slipped into the next, little things began to get away from her. One of her neighbors set a sack of mail he’d pulled from her overflowing mailbox outside her door. Her laundry piled up, and dust settled over her normally tidy condo. She got a cold and had trouble shaking it off.

One Friday morning her head ached so badly she called in sick for her volunteer tutoring and went to bed. Other than dragging herself outside long enough for Roo to do his business and occasionally forcing down a piece of toast, she slept all weekend.

When Monday came, her headache was gone, but the aftereffects of the cold had sapped her energy, so she phoned in sick again. Her bread box was empty, and she was out of cereal. She found some canned fruit in the cupboard.