times, then slowly pulled up. She grabbed it and lifted it aside. Heart beating harder, she reached inside, feeling. Her fingers closed on a cloth bag, which she

grabbed and wrested through the small opening.

She made her way back into the room and sat on the bed cross-legged, then

dumped the bag out onto the quilt.

A variety of trinkets tumbled out. A few photos, some coins. An unused stamp, a rubber ball. A few colored wire bracelets she'd made with a kit she'd gotten on her third birthday. She remembered giving a silver necklace she'd made to Peter for his birthday that year. He'd been so embarrassed.

She spread them all out with her fingers. Her report card from second grade.

She smiled. All “satisfactories.” A photo of her in the pony Halloween costume

her mom had tried to make, with her mom's old blonde wig as a tail.

A folded note on pink paper. It was worn, as if it had been carried around in

a pocket for a long time. She unfolded it and read it, then sat still for a while.

She began to put all the trinkets back in the bag. She paused, took the note, folded it and stuck it into her shirt pocket.

The bag went back into the secret space in the closet floorboard. It was where it belonged, back in time, back to a little girl that wasn't there anymore.

She sighed, long, as she sank back onto the bed. It was becoming too much,

the pressure. Being here, this job.

Her eyes stung. How was she supposed to do this?

No, she knew what she truly meant was, how was she supposed to do this alone?

And that was it. Letting the word in, letting it even be possible, squeezed her

heart, and she gave a short gasp. A tear trickled, and she wiped it.

Well, she didn't really have a choice, did she? In fact, the choices were made,

a long time ago. She was just riding them out now.

She sniffed and sat up straight, took a chance glance out her second-story window at the house next door.

The porch light was still on, gleaming yellow. A beacon, if she wanted to be

poetic. But she couldn't afford to. Not yet.

She got up and pulled the shade down, and the room went dark.

* * *

Peter thought for a moment, then rang the doorbell again. Maybe he was pushing

it. Maybe Kate was inside watching him, hiding in the kitchen. Maybe it was a

mistake, the kiss in Chicago yesterday. It had been spontaneous, but she hadn't

pulled away. Maybe he should just…

The door opened and Kate appeared, smiling. She was barefoot in a flowered

dress. Peter hadn't seen her in a dress before. At least, not since grade school.

She looked good, light and airy. Her toenails were painted red.

“Peter, Peter,” she said a little loudly. “Pumpkin eater.”

“Can I come in?” he asked.

She bowed extravagantly. “Enter, good sir.” She stumbled slightly as she stepped back.

Peter opened the screen door and let it close behind him. “Saw your car.

Thought I'd stop and say hi.”

Kate beamed. “Awesome! Awesome sauce.” She turned and walked to a

couch and flopped down, patting the seat next to her. “Come sit by me, Peter.”

He glanced at the wine bottle and glass on the end table next to the couch.

The glass was empty.

“Maybe I should come back later.”

She shook her head. “No, no, sit down and tell me how you've been.”

“Since yesterday?” He came and sat next to her. She tucked her legs under

her and shifted towards him.

“You don't mind if I scooch over, do you?”

“No.”

“Good. I don't like anti-scoochers.”

“Me either.”

“Then we are agreed. Next order of business. Getting rid of the Vipes