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out in pain.
    “Tell me about Ruth’s background again?” Tommy asked, more seriously now.
    “She went to Yale, and Harvard Business School. Worked as a banker. I’m not sure exactly what she does, some sort of consulting work. She was sent to Dubai by one of the big banks but hated it.”
    “So is she going to work at one of the banks in New York now?”
    Sylvia started to dry the pan. It was so scrubbed it shined silver. “Said she saved up ‘pots of money’ and is now taking time off to write her novel—wants to take a break from work. I think she’s really clever. Lived in Europe, speaks perfect Spanish and Portuguese. Grew up in Brazil.”
    “That’s right; I remember you telling me that.”
    “Anyway, she’s really well traveled; she backpacked around Asia, too. She’s half Cuban, half Brazilian, I think. By blood anyway. But totally American. She’s interesting. Just separated from her boyfriend.”
    “But she doesn’t have kids, right?” Tommy asked. “Or are they all grown up? She’s in her forties, isn’t she?”
    “No kids. After the banking job, she went to Mexico to a specialized IVF clinic to have her eggs frozen, but then she and the boyfriend broke up. All that money she invested and then her boyfriend left her. And there were other complications.”
    Tommy dipped a large spoon into the apple pie, Great Bird Ziz style, not bothering to get a plate. “I bet. How old is she, anyway?”
    “Forty-six.”
    “Forty- six? ” he exclaimed, nearly choking on a full mouth. “I know women can get pregnant naturally at that age, but isn’t she a bit past her sell-by date to be having her eggs frozen and the whole IVF thing?”
    Sylvia hung the pan on a rack. It swung in the air, back and forth, on its hook. “Ruth’s in great shape. It was her last chance to have a baby.”
    “I’ll say.”
    “Don’t be such an ageist, Tommy—she’s a very young forty-six. I mean, look at Sandra Bullock. She’s pushing fifty and she looks amazing. Better, actually, than a lot of women in their twenties.” She glared at him, and went on, “Anyway, Ruth and her boyfriend split up, so now she has nowhere to live. She’s doing a sort of tour, visiting friends this summer before she buys a place of her own with all that money she saved from the finance job. I thought it would be nice if she stopped here for a couple of weeks, you know, while you’re away. Thought we could do our own sort of writers’ workshop. It’ll be great, She can give me feedback on my half finished script, see if I’m going in the right direction, and I can give her feedback on her novel.”
    Grace watched her parents’ Ping-Pong match. That Feedback word again. What kind of food was feedback? Why did she want to give food back to people all the time? And the frozen eggs thing. All this talk about food. She’d find out what it all meant later when her mother was in her Sweet Mood, when they’d be all cozy together, later at Story-Time tonight, when she’d be tucked into bed with a cup of warm milk.

CHAPTER 3
    Tommy
    T ommy had his bag packed. A year or so ago, he would have felt pained to leave Crowheart behind, but today his heart leapt. A break would do him good. This rustic lifestyle just wasn’t working out. It had been fun at first, but subjecting himself to being Earth Man for years to come, chopping wood all winter, was the last thing he wanted. He’d done everything he could to please his wife, but it wasn’t working. He’d tried, yearned to make her happy, but he couldn’t do it anymore; be her “happy barometer,” the one responsible for her equilibrium. He needed to make new plans for his family, for himself—he needed to get them out of this rut.
    As he stood in the kitchen drinking a Guinness, he watched Sylvia as she half-leaned against the table, chopping vegetables. Her tall frame was slightly stooped. She’d changed. The only thing he’d ever noticed about her height before was her grace, her