He put on a false smile and stepped back, bowing with exaggerated politeness. “Oh, pardon me.”

I went out into the hall and looked for Rachel. She was in a waiting room at the front of the building, reading an old copy of a tabloid magazine. She looked up over the top of it and smiled. “Aliens will arrive any day now,” she said. “This is reported by a woman who just came back from the future.”

“Does this mean I won’t get a chance to collect my retirement?”

“Sorry, you’re out of luck. You look tired. Ready to go home?”

“No, sorry, Rachel.”

“Why not?” another voice asked. I turned to see Pete coming down the hall, Frank behind him.

“What are you guys doing here?” I asked.

“Good to see you, too,” Pete said. “We come here all the time, remember?”

“Just decided to let Rachel go home,” Frank said. “Reed said you were in the conference room with Monroe’s mother. Has she already left?”

“No, not yet. In fact, I wanted to ask you if we could put her up for the night.”

“She’s staying here in town?”

“There’s a lot that needs to be settled. I just can’t imagine her staying in a hotel. Not after all that’s happened tonight.”

“You going to put both of them up?” Rachel asked.

“Both?” Pete asked.

“Her son’s with her,” Rachel said. “A real asshole.”

“Come on, Rachel, his brother just died,” I said.

She shrugged, nothing apologetic in it.

“You know these people?” Pete said. “I thought-”

“It will be fine,” I said, feeling my patience slipping from me.

“I’m sure it will be,” Frank said quickly, giving Pete a quelling glance. “Rachel, thanks for everything.”

She laughed and put an arm around her husband. “Let’s take a hint, Pete.” She steered him toward the door, then called back to us over her shoulder. “Good night, Frank.Piano, piano, Irene.”

Softly, softly. Sort of an Italian version of “take it easy.” Pete was muttering complaints as the door closed behind them.

“You okay?” Frank asked.

“Honest to God, I don’t know.”

Charles Monroe picked that moment to come walking down the hall. “She wants to see you,” he said, as if the words were full of lemon juice. He kept walking, going outside before I had a chance to introduce Frank.

“The asshole?” Frank asked.

I scowled at him. He held up his hands in mock surrender and took a seat. “I’ll be right here if you need me,” he said, picking up the tabloid. “Reading about this boy who can see with his ears.”

WHENIGOT BACK to the conference room, it was clear to me that June Monroe had been crying, but her voice was steady as she said, “I want to talk to you, Irene, but I believe I’m all talked out for now. Can you recommend a good place to stay? I haven’t been in Las Piernas in years, but I figure a newspaper reporter knows her way around.”

“I’d like it very much if you and Charles would stay at our house.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t impose. And Charles won’t be staying here at all; he owns his own business in Riverside, so he has to be there early in the morning.”

“It wouldn’t be an imposition. We have a guest room. Please-unless you’d really be more comfortable in a hotel? I should mention that we have pets-two dogs and a cat-”

“Oh, that wouldn’t be a problem. I love animals.”

“You’ll stay with us, then?”

She considered the offer for a moment, then said, “Thank you, yes, I will.”

CHARLES WAS JUST ABOUTas pleased with the plan as he was with anything else connected with me that night. June merely crossed her arms and asked him to please open the trunk. He angrily obeyed, yanking the small suitcase out and setting it on the ground with a thump, then drove off without saying so much as good-bye to her.

Frank pretended not to notice what had happened, helped her with her overnight bag, and struck up a conversation with her about the night classes she was teaching in Riverside-algebra and geometry for the adult education program.

It was two in the morning when we got home. After a raucous greeting from our pets, everyone settled in for the night. Cody decided that June needed a big cat on her bed, which seemed to please her. I was grateful for that; he might have yowled all night if denied his preferences.

Frank was in bed, drowsy, but waiting for me. He snuggled up against me, behind me, wrapped an arm around me. We talked for a while about the evening’s events.

“Why did you let her son give you a hard time?” he asked.

“He’s having a hard time, too. He just learned that his brother died.”

“Didn’t appear to be grief-stricken.”

“In his own way, I think he was. Even if I had felt like arguing with him, I wouldn’t have done it. It would have upset Lucas’s mother.”

“I guess that makes sense. Still, the guy was an-”

“Don’t say it.” I turned to my other side, so that I could look at him. “I don’t know why you’re upset with him. You’ve seen all kinds of reactions to death in a family-some people cry, some people get real quiet, some get angry.”

He sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. If I had met him under other circumstances, I might have seen it that way. But I just haven’t ever watched anyone act that way towardyou. Not and get away with it.”

I smiled. “I’m okay, Tarzan.”

He laughed, then reached up and stroked my hair. “If I wasn’t so damned tired, I’d make you regret that remark.”

I kissed him. “I’ll take a rain check.”

I turned back into spoon position. He nuzzled my neck, then yawned. I listened as his breathing became deep and regular.

That rhythmic breathing acted as a counterpoint to my troubled thoughts. It calmed me, kept me from dwelling on questions that could not be answered that night, kept me from worrying about June Monroe, Claire Watterson, and all the other wounded souls I could not heal. Holding me in bed that night, Frank was warm and solid, his simple act of affection as important to me as the beating of my own heart against his hand. “I like being married,” I whispered, thinking he was asleep.

“Me, too,” he murmured against my ear.

IWOKE UP almost as tired as I was when I fell asleep, and twice as cold. In the soft gray light of the approaching dawn, I saw that Frank had rolled to the other side of the bed, taking the covers with him. I lay there for a time, asking myself if it was worth waking him to reclaim the blankets; I decided that the possibility of my going back to sleep was so low, I would let him get away with the theft.

I eased out of bed, wrapped myself in a robe, and stood there for a moment, watching him sleep. His big body was wrapped up in the blankets almost mummy-style, although the toes of his left foot peeked out. One arm held a pillow over the top of his head-something he does when he’s especially tired. Only the lower half of his face showed beneath the pillow. To anyone else, right at that moment, he probably would have looked kind of silly. To me, well, he was going to have to make good on that rain check.

I slipped on a pair of jeans and a big sweater, put on a pair of running shoes; I thought I might take the dogs for an early morning romp on the beach. But as I approached the sliding glass door that leads to the backyard, I saw that June Monroe was sitting out on the patio, the dogs basking in her attention.

I almost stepped away, but the mutts had heard me, and came running over to the door. I went outside.

“Good morning,” she said. “This surely is a beautiful yard. Did you plant this garden?”

“No,” I admitted, sitting down next to her. “Frank’s got the green thumb.”

She looked out over the riot of crocuses, jonquils, daffodils, and other bulbs that were just coming into bloom and smiled. Deke nudged her hand and Dunk moved back and forth between us, vying for earscratching. “I’m surprised you can keep this garden with these two dogs back here.”