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doing out here?”
    “Is the baby crying?”
    “No. He’s sound asleep.”
    Faith ran unsteady hands across her breasts. “He’s probably hungry.”
    “He’s asleep,” Cindy repeated.
    “I’m a terrible mother.”
    “No, you’re not. You’re a wonderful mother,” Cindy assured her truthfully, recalling Faith’s excitement when she’d knocked on Cindy’s door to announce her pregnancy, how sweetly she’d asked for any advice Cindy could give her, how wonderfully gentle and patient she was with the baby. “I think we should go inside.”
    Faith offered no resistance as Cindy helped her to her feet, the top of her head in line with Cindy’s chin. Cindy guided her through the large front foyer into the rectangular-shaped living room at the back of the house. A powder blue sweater lay on the hardwood floor next to the baby grand piano and Faith reached down to scoop it up, pushing her hands roughly through the sleeves, and quickly securing its three white buttons. Then she sankdown into the green velvet sofa, and leaned her head against the pillows.
    “What’s Ryan’s number at work?”
    “Ryan’s at work,” Faith said.
    “Yes, I know. I need his phone number.”
    Faith stared blankly at the pale green wall ahead.
    “It’s okay. I’ll find it. You stay here. Lie down.”
    Faith smiled and obediently lifted her feet off the floor, bringing her knees to her chest.
    Cindy quickly located Ryan’s work number from the bulletin board by the kitchen phone and punched in the correct numbers. It was answered on the first ring.
    “Ryan Sellick,” the man said instead of hello.
    “Ryan,” Cindy enunciated clearly, “this is Cindy Carver. I think you need to come home.”

THREE
    “Y OU’RE late.”
    “I’m sorry. I got here as fast as I could.”
    “I said four o’clock,” Leigh reminded her sister, square red nails tapping on the gold band of her watch for emphasis, then pushing newly streaked hair away from a face that was pinched with incipient hysteria. The impatience in her hazel eyes was underlined in heavy black pencil, and mascara sat like tiny lumps of coal on her lashes. Anxiety draped across her shoulders like a well-worn shawl. “It’s almost four-thirty,” she said. “Marcel has to leave at five.”
    “I’m really sorry.” Cindy looked from her sister to the short, curly-haired man in tight brown leather pants who was conferring with his assistant in a far corner of the long, cluttered room. “There was a problem with my next-door neighbor. She’s acting very strangely. I’m afraid things just kind of got away from me.”
    “They always do,” Leigh said.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Look, you’re here
now
. Let’s not make a big deal out of it.”
    Cindy took a deep breath, silently counting to ten. If you hadn’t picked a dressmaker whose shop is halfway out of the city, I might have been able to get here on time, she wanted to say. If you hadn’t scheduled the damn fittings for the height of rush hour traffic, I might not have been so late. Besides, you’re the one making the big deal out of it, not me. Instead she said, “So, how’s it going so far?”
    “As expected.” Leigh lowered her voice to a whisper. “Mother is driving me nuts.”
    “What are you whispering about?” a woman’s gravelly voice called from one of the dressing rooms at the back of the shop.
    Cindy spun around, absorbing the details of the small dressmaking salon in a single glance: the wide front window, the bare white walls lined with racks of silk and satin gowns in varying stages of completion, bolts of bright fabric carpeting the floor and occupying the only two chairs in the room, a full-length mirror in one corner, three appropriately angled mirrors in another, another room at the back crowded with assorted tables, sewing machines, and ironing boards. Cindy sidled up to a rack of more casual suits and dresses that was pushed off to one side, wondering whether she might