hung suspended; distance was its only measure. Snowflakes swirled against the windshield, dissolving into droplets, getting wiped away. Wheels spun furiously under us while Molly and I sat motionless, waiting for the monotonous, interchangeable scenes out the window to pass, replaced by images of our destination. Of home. From now on, I’d rely on nobody, let no one too close. It would be just me and Molly. Molly and me. We were our whole family, didn’t need anyone else.

At last, the Vine Street Expressway. At Sixth, I turned off and plowed south, literally. Not much traffic, due to the snow. A few pedestrians, up to their knees. Arch, JFK, Market, Chestnut, Walnut. I pressed on steadily, unstoppably, toward our street, inch by inch, block by block.

Finally, we approached our street. Everything was quiet, coated with white. Construction vehicles, cars, and vans lay buried, lifeless under mounds of snow. Behind Mr. Woods’s snow-blocked window, Santa throbbed like a painful wound; in Victor’s upstairs window, the blinds were shut tight but oddly askew. Charlie’s house looked mournful, drooping yellow tape separating it from the street, snow hanging heavily on its roof. The street seemed off balance and bruised, but even so, I was glad to be there. We were home.

I hadn’t thought of parking when I’d taken the truck. Finding a spot wouldn’t be easy. Except that I was driving a damn snow-plow. No one would argue with a double-parked snowplow. Not today. I parked alongside one of Jake’s trucks and woke up Molly.

“Mollybear, we’re home.”

She opened her eyes, blinked, and looked around. I gathered our bags and went around the truck to help her out. When I came around and opened her door, she was busy with her tooth.

“Hop out,” I said.

“Huh-uh.” She shook her head, still wiggling. “Come on, Molly, let’s—”

“Aach!” Eyes wide, Molly held out a tiny, blood-coated kernel. “Your tooth!”

She grinned, revealing a blank space in her ravaged gums. Blood trickled along her fingers and over her teeth. As she noticed, her chin began to wobble; her eyes filled with alarm.

“It’s okay—you’ll be fine.” I kissed her, then searched for some white snow and packed a snowball. “Try this. Press it onto your gum.”

“Bite it?”

“Yup.”

“It’ll get all bloody.”

“It’ll stop the bleeding.” We traded. She took the snowball, and I took her first lost tooth and placed it safely in a tissue in my pocket. Then I reached out to lift her out of the cab. Just then, Phillip Woods’s door swung open. I expected to see him emerge with a shovel or a snow blower, prepared to clear his front walk.

Instead, dressed in knee-high boots and a red sheared-beaver coat, her long brunette hair loose and blowing in the wind, Beverly Gardener stepped onto the porch and marched up the street, cutting her way through the snow.

FIFTY-SEVEN

WE FOLLOWED HER.

“Get back in,” I told Molly and closed the door before she could take the snowball out of her mouth to ask a question. I went around to the driver’s side and climbed into the cab. Without thinking. Without quite knowing why.

“Why aren’t we getting out?” Molly asked. The snowball was melting, dripping in her hands.

“Here, open the window. Throw that out. It stopped bleeding, I think.” I started the engine.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m not sure—I want to see where that lady’s going.”

She cranked down her window and threw out the mushy snow. “Why? Who is she?”

“Someone from work. I want to know what she was doing at Mr. Woods’s house.”

“But I want to go home—”

“We will. Soon.”

That seemed to satisfy her.

“And can we make pancakes?”

“We’ll see.” When Beverly was a few houses up the block, certain that she hadn’t seen me, I started driving, staying half a block behind.

What would I do if she saw us? Confront her? Demand to know the truth about her relationship with Woods? With Nick? If she didn’t see us, how long would I follow her? Would I lurk with Molly indefinitely outside her condo? Or in front of a store if she went shopping? And what if she was meeting Nick?

I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I was ready to take both Nick and Beverly on and make a fool of myself, even in front of Molly. I kept going. At Sixth Street, she walked north. Damn. Sixth was one-way south. I couldn’t follow. I pulled over and watched her. And saw her get into the driver’s seat of Nick’s old Volvo, parked halfway up the block.

FIFTY-EIGHT

I WATCHED FROM THE INTERSECTION AS THE