for a hug.

She looked pensive. “Mom? How does the Tooth Fairy get in the house?”

“I guess she flies.”

She frowned. “She isn’t real, is she? You made her up.”

What should I tell her? I was late for work, had no time for a discussion. Molly at times revealed insight beyond her years; at others, she clung to childlike fantasies. I wasn’t sure which way to go on the Tooth Fairy. “I didn’t make her up. But can we save this for tonight when we have more time?”

Still frowning, she nodded, and I was temporarily off the hook. Angela approached, carrying socks. A block away, the church bell began ringing the hour. Oh Lord—I was late. It was nine. I grabbed my coat, said good-bye to Angela, kissed Molly, and ran out the door.

Jake stood at the bottom of our front steps, biceps bulging, sandy hair tied back in a ponytail, the dimple in his chin shadowed by three days of beard. “Morning, Ms. Hayes.”

“Hi,” I nodded.

“Watch yourself—your steps are icy,” he said. “I’ll have my guys sprinkle some salt.” “Thanks, Jake, that’s great.”

“No trouble.” His teeth twinkled when he smiled. Almost handsome, he would have been irresistible if his eyes were just a tiny bit farther apart. Jake’s contracting company had done most of the renovations on our street. He was always around, always helpful. When Molly was a baby, he’d helped me lift her stroller up the steps at least a hundred times. “Be careful,” he warned. “Sidewalk’s slippery.”

“Thanks, Jake.”

I rushed on down the street, passing curbside trash bags, realizing it was trash day. Michael had distracted me, so I hadn’t put our bag out; maybe Angela would remember. Damn Michael, anyway. He’d made me later than I’d already been. I should have told him flat out, no, forget it. No way was I going to give him another thing. But then, the ring had been his grandmother’s. Maybe I should give in one more time. Cursing, I stared at the sidewalk, resisting the debate, refusing thoughts of ex-husbands, rings, and fingers. I plowed ahead, watching only the squares of pavement ahead of my feet, not where I was going. At the corner of Fifth, I almost ran smack into old Charlie.

“Oops, sorry,” I called, whizzing by. Damn, that was close.

“Whoa, Miss Zoe,” Charlie wheezed. “You’ll get a speeding ticket, you don’t slow down.”

“Sorry.” I kept moving, trying to get around him, but Charlie stepped sideways, blocking me, apparently determined to have a neighborly chat.

“I’m late for work,” I explained.

“You can’t be late, miss; you haven’t even got there yet,” Charlie replied. “Besides, you have to meet someone. We have a new neighbor.”

The new neighbor stood beside Charlie. He wore a camel cashmere overcoat and tortoise shell glasses. He was slight in build, pale in complexion, sparse in hair. Refined, probably in his late thirties. Removing a leather glove, he extended his hand. “Woods is my name. Phillip Woods.”

His hand was larger than I’d have expected, his grip softer.

“I’m Zoe Hayes,” I panted. “I live right across from Charlie.”

He nodded. “Yes, of course. The house with the wrought-iron chairs. I’ve seen you out and about.” He blinked rapidly, almost twitching. A nervous person.

I tried to calm him down with a compliment. “My daughter likes your Santa Claus.” I smiled, trying to conceal how I felt about the thing.

“Does she? Well, that’s the idea, isn’t it? ’Tis the season. It’s all for the children, right?” His eyes flitted from point to point, settling nowhere.

I nodded, backing away. “I really do have to run—late for work. See you, Charlie. Nice to meet you, Mr. Woods.” I stepped around Charlie to the curb.

“Yes. Likewise, Ms. Hayes.”

Charlie took my arm and walked with me for a few steps. Lowering his voice, he said, “Miss Zoe? Watch your step. Mind yourself and your little girl. It’s a bad world we live in. You hear?”

I nodded and kept walking. “Don’t you worry, Charlie. I will.”

I hurried off to find a taxi, but I felt Charlie’s eyes on me, the weight of his gaze, until I turned the corner at Sixth. He seemed kind—even grandfatherly—but he said the oddest things.

FIVE

THE INSTITUTE WAS SEPARATED FROM WEST PHILADELPHIA BY high wrought-iron fences and expansive sculpted gardens. A rambling configuration of dark brick and stone, for almost a hundred years it had housed patients with disabling diseases of the mind. Today, it hunkered moody and brooding under the stark winter sky.

The taxi dropped me off at the far end of