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“I’m sorry, honey,” I said gently. “But that’s kind of what those guys get paid to do.”

She chuckled softly. “And I appreciate it. I guess I thought I’d walk in and feel his presence somehow. And I don’t.”

“And you wanted to?”

She thought for a moment. “No. I really didn’t. I’m just in a weird place. I’m still flipping out to think that I chose to go out with someone so duplicitous. So now shouldn’t I be questioning my choices? Shouldn’t I wonder about my feelings for Austin? Is he really the right man for me?”

I picked up a pencil and drummed it on the desk surface. “Yes, he is.”

“It’s that simple?”

“Yes,” I said. “You’ve loved him for more than half your lifetime. This isn’t an impulsive decision, Robin. It’s nothing at all like the situation with Alex. And Austin finally realizes he feels the same way. Are you really going to question that? Do you know how rare it is to find real love?”

“I guess.”

“Austin is the real thing,” I said. “Alex was a blip on the screen. A bump in the road. A misstep. A wrinkle in time.”

She laughed. “Enough with the metaphors.”

“Really? Because I have more. A leaf blowing in the wind.”

“A ship passing in the night?” she whispered.

“Um, well,” I said, and decided to shut up.

“Anyway,” she said, changing tones again, “the bedding is beautiful. I’m still in shock that you showed such good taste.”

There was the Robin I knew and loved. “Wait till you see the bill.”

“Worth it at any cost,” she said. “Thanks.”

“No worries. So, did your mom get a chance to talk to Rajiv yet?”

“They spoke last night. He’s in New York right now and won’t be in San Francisco until Saturday morning. She set up the meeting for the afternoon.”

“Okay, I’ll tell Derek.”

“Great. I think we should all be there.”

“I do, too.” I grabbed a pencil and pulled out my desk calendar. “Oh, crap-a-doodle.”

“What’s wrong?”

“We promised Jeremy we’d go to the Castro Street Fair to see his street performance.”

“That’s right.” Robin groaned. “I forgot all about it.”

“Rats.” I sighed. “I’ll tell him we can’t make it.”

“Oh, but that’s my favorite street fair,” she said. “There’s a great local sculptor who always has a booth there. And I might get some of my stuff in there, too.”

I thought about it. Truth was, I loved the Castro fair, too. All those cute boys in their leather chaps. And the food stalls were always top-notch. And Jeremy had been so excited about having us all show up to watch him perform.

“Maybe we can set up the meeting for later in the afternoon,” I said. “I think Jeremy’s on at one o’clock.”

“Yes, okay,” she said. “We can watch Jeremy, then meet Rajiv at the Cove Cafe maybe around three or four.”

The Cove was your basic American diner, but it wasn’t greasy, the waiters were great, and it was located on Castro Street. We wouldn’t have to walk too far after Jeremy’s performance.

“And Shiva will love the street fair,” Robin added. “It’ll remind her of the bazaar in Varanasi.”

“Minus the Ganges,” I said, laughing. “Okay, if she’s up for it, that would work out perfectly.”

“She’s up for anything I say she’s up for,” Robin murmured.

“It’s like that, is it?”

“Oh, yeah. She kind of flipped out once she heard what I’d gone through. She came by Austin’s place twice a day just to check up on me. It’s weird having her around, doting on me.”

“I think it’s nice that she’s worried about you.” After all the years of benign neglect, it was good to know Shiva actually cared about her daughter.

“We’ll see how long it lasts, now that we’re living in the same space for the next few days.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” I said. “Listen, Derek’s going out with clients Friday night, so I’m having a girls’ night. Margaritas and tacos. If you and your mom don’t have plans, why don’t you come over? It would be interesting to introduce Shiva to Vinnie.”

“Sounds like fun. We’ll be there.”

Tyler stared at the book. He turned it over and scanned the back cover. Then he opened the book, checked the last few pages, and leaned in close to examine the inner hinges. Finally, he closed the book and gazed up at me. “Is this my book?”

“Tyler,” his mother said, “of course it’s your book.”

“But it’s different.”

“It’s all fixed, just as you wanted,” Lisa said, and shot me a look of embarrassed confusion. “Miss Brooklyn sewed the pages back together and glued the covers so it would be like new.”

He was sitting up on his knees at their dining room table, so I sat down in the chair next to him. He had both elbows on the table now, and his expression was so serious, I had to smother a grin. “Look in the front of the book, Tyler. You signed your name, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” he muttered, and turned the book over. On the flyleaf, he had written his name in block letters, in heavy pencil. He studied the signature minutely, then looked up at me, still suspicious. “That looks like my name.”

“It is your name. And do you remember where you colored the beast orange?”

His eyes widened and he flipped through the pages. He nodded rapidly and tapped his fingers on the page. “It’s mine, it’s mine.”

“Do you like it?” his mother asked.

He rubbed his fingers over the crayon scrawling and tiny orange flakes came off on his skin. He nodded again. “Good. It’s… good. Mine.”

“So you’re happy with it?” Lisa said, prompting him to be polite.

“Yes, it’s mine. It’s good.” He stroked the page, then looked up at me. “Thank you, Miss Brooklyn.”

I’d had more effusive praise from my clients, but there was something honest and pure about the six-year-old’s approval. “You’re welcome, Tyler.”

Without warning he threw himself at me and hugged me as best he could, considering he was sprawled between two chairs. “How did you do it? You made it new. It’s like… magic.”

I laughed. “It is magic, but someday I’ll show you how to do it.”

He sat back in his chair. “Yes. I want to see how you did it.”

“I’ll teach you, if it’s okay with your mom.”

“Can I, Mommy?”

It was the first time I’d heard him call her Mommy, so I knew this was important. We both looked at Lisa, who smiled and nodded.

“Yes, yes.” Tyler rubbed his hands and bobbed and wiggled in his chair.

“Tyler, isn’t there something you’re forgetting?” Lisa said, and touched the pocket of her jeans.

“Oh.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out five wrinkled one-dollar bills. He straightened them, then handed them to me. “This is for you, Miss Brooklyn. You earned it for a job well-done.”

Pookie wasn’t eating.

It was early afternoon on Friday, and I could see the reason in her eyes. She’d been here long enough. It was so unfair that she had to stay at my place while Splinters, the sick cat, was allowed to luxuriate at home with Vinnie and Suzie at his beck and call. What had Pookie done to deserve this banishment? Why did she have to be the one to live with me, the human who almost forgot to feed her?

It happened only once, but I wasn’t off the hook yet. Probably never would be. Cats held grudges; I saw that now.

Naturally, Pookie didn’t say any of that out loud, but it was apparent every time she looked at me. She wore her contempt for me like a second fuzzy skin. She was the prisoner; I was the jailer. She let me know with each swift swish of her tail that she would despise me to her dying day.

Or maybe that was just my imagination.