“Of course. Her name is Blanche and she loves kids.”

Hand in hand, the two of them approached. On cue, Blanche assumed the sit-stay. Kristina reached to pet the top of her head.

I said, “Actually, she likes it better when you do it this way.” Placing my hand low, in tongue range. Kristina imitated me. I said, “Perfect.” Blanche licked. Kristina giggled and moved in for another tongue-bath.

Her mother said, “Okay, that’s fine. Thank the nice man, Boo.”

Kristina began petting Blanche. Her strokes quickened. Veered on slaps. Her mother took hold of her wrist, guided the tiny hand down.

Blanche licked pudgy fingers.

Kristina squealed.

The woman said, “Blanche. Like in Streetcar.”

I smiled. “She likes the company of strangers.”

The woman laughed. “I can see that. Great disposition. It’s a blessing.”

Kristina showed the shell to Blanche and shouted, “Smail!”

Blanche smiled.

Kristina ran off laughing.

The woman said, “Sorry for interrupting your reading.”

I said, “Talk about adorable.”

Her eyes drifted to the magazine. “You’re a psychologist?”

“I am.”

“I’m reading something kind of related—hold on.”

Her walk to her bench was languid, graceful. She returned with the toddler book.

“I know it’s pop stuff,” she said. “Would you mind telling me if it’s worth anything?”

“It is,” I said. “I know the author.”

“Really.”

“We trained at the same time. At Western Pediatric Medical Center. Your little one’s a bit past toddler.”

“I know,” she said. “I just like to learn.” The book dropped to her side. “That hospital, I actually did a— I spent some time there. Not with my kids, thank God. Just … I helped out. Years ago, before I had kids.”

“It’s a good place.”

“You bet … anyway, thanks for sharing Blanche with Kristina.”

She offered her hand. Long graceful fingers, clean nails, no polish.

I said, “Blanche lives to socialize.”

Taking a cue with the panache of Streep, Blanche wiggled her hindquarters.

The woman laughed. “I see that—um, do you happen to have a card?”

I gave her one.

She read it. Her eyes saucered.

I said, “Everything okay?”

“Oh, sure … it’s just … I almost … this is going to sound totally weird but a few years back someone actually referred me to you.”

“Small world,” I said.

“I’m sorry, this is kind of awkward … the appointment got canceled. I listened to someone else who gave me another name. It wasn’t very helpful.”

“Sometimes,” I said, “it’s a matter of fit.”

“This was a bad fit—listen, this is going to sound pushy but would you be willing to give it another try? An appointment, I mean.”

“Sure.”

“Wow,” she said, “that’s gracious of you. Um, could it be relatively soon?”

I pulled my appointment book out of my pack, knitted my brow.

She said, “You’re booked solid. Of course.”