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afternoon—me, Dad, Rob, and two cousins unlucky enough to drop by for a visit. I wondered how long Michael would last.

Four
    Michael either enjoyed Timmy’s company or pretended to, freeing me to clean up some of the chaos our little visitor had created in the house and start thinking about dinner. A good ten seconds of thought convinced me that with Timmy underfoot and the thermometer hovering near ninety, cooking was not a sensible option. I placed a carryout order for pizza and Greek salad at Luigi’s, our favorite local restaurant, and convinced Rob to pick up the food. Actually, it didn’t take much convincing, partly because Rob had never met a pizza he didn’t adore, and partly because he suspected he’d get drafted to help with Timmy if he didn’t make the pizza run.
    As usual, I ordered enough food to feed at least twice as many people as I was expecting. Not surprisingly, Mother, Dad, Rose Noire, and Dr. Blake appeared shortly after Rob and the food arrived—though they claimed to be less interested in the food than in taking advantage of the wide-screen TV Dad had given us for Christmas and the satellite system that had been Rob’s housewarming gift.
    “My new special is on
Animal Planet
tonight,” Dr.Blake announced. “The latest one in the ‘Animals at Risk’ series.”
    “Oh, those are the shows where you rescue different animals that are being tortured or exploited, aren’t they?” Rose Noire asked. “I’m not even sure you should be showing that kind of violence. Especially not to impressionable minds,” she added, nodding toward Timmy.
    I closed my eyes and sighed, hoping she and Dr. Blake wouldn’t start another of their arguments. For two people who both loved animals as much as they did, they could certainly find a remarkable number of animal-related issues to disagree about.
    But to my relief, instead of staying to argue, Rose Noire volunteered to take Timmy off our hands while the rest of us ate. Of course, everyone else went running outside as soon as they heard the ghastly moans coming from the backyard.
    “Relax,” I called after them. “Rose Noire is trying to teach him to meditate.”
    “To meditate?” Michael said, pausing in the doorway. “That horrible noise is meditating?”
    “She’s chanting ‘om,’”I explained. “That’s Timmy’s version of om.”
    He went to look anyway, and then came trooping back sheepishly with the others when he discovered that no one was being tortured. Well, perhaps Rose Noire was, but she was gritting her teeth and enduring it.
    Everyone else still flinched when a particularly heart-rending groan resounded from the yard. I found myself wondering if I’d discovered an important truth normally revealed only to actual parents: that you can find even the most horrible racket soothing if it’s farenough away and demonstrates that the child responsible is still perfectly healthy.
    Still, I wasn’t sorry when Dad and Dr. Blake offered to take a turn amusing Timmy after dinner. And I felt positively mellow when Mother took Rob and Rose Noire off to do the dishes.
    “Meg has had a difficult day,” Mother said.
    I leaned back, poured myself another glass of wine, and savored being alone with Michael for the first time all day.
    “You did have a difficult day,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
    “Not your fault,” I said. “Not even Timmy’s fault. Karen, now—when she finally turns up, I have a bone to pick with her.”
    “What if she doesn’t turn up until sometime tomorrow?”
    “We’ve already taken that possibility into account,” I said. “Remember, the mountain of equipment she left included a portable crib. I set it up in the bedroom next to ours at naptime. We hauled the rest of his stuff up there for the time being—it was in the way down here in the hall.”
    “So he’ll be fine tonight,” Michael said. “But tomorrow?”
    My stomach suddenly tightened, and I pushed my glass away. What if she didn’t turn up