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kitchen table. The children ate in the kitchen with her whenever she and Oliver went out, and sometimes when Oliver and Sarah were at home, they all ate in the kitchen together. But most of the time when she and Ollie were home, they ate in the dining room. It was something Oliver liked to do, he liked the ceremony of it, the tradition of sitting down together in a civilized way, and talking about what they'd done all day. It was his way of getting away from the pressures of work, and keeping up with what they did, especially the children. But tonight she and Ollie were going out with friends, to a new restaurant in nearby Rye. The phone broke into Sarah's thoughts before Agnes could answer her, and Sarah hurried to answer it. Maybe it was Ollie. She suddenly wanted to be near to him, to hear his voice, to keep him close to her. Suddenly, in a single moment, with the letter she'd just read, everything was changing.
    The call was from their friends. They had to cancel their dinner date that night. She had a terrible sore throat, and he had to stay late at the office. Sarah turned toward Agnes with a pensive look. “I guess we'll stay home tonight and eat with the kids. The people we were having dinner with just canceled.”
    Agnes nodded, watching her, and then spoke up. “Why don't you go out with Mr. Watson anyway?” Sarah looked as though she needed the distraction. And Sarah smiled at her. The two women knew each other well, and yet Agnes always kept a respectful distance. She wasn't afraid to speak her mind, to give them hell when she thought she should, particularly for the children's sake, yet even when she railed at them, which she sometimes did, they were “Mr. and Mrs. Watson.” “Mr. Watson isn't very fond of meat loaf.”
    Sarah grinned at her. She was right. He wasn't. Maybe they should go out. But suddenly she didn't want to be alone with him. And as she tried to decide, she heard the front door slam and a voice call out, and a moment later, Benjamin strode into the cozy kitchen. At seventeen, he was six feet tall, with bright red hair, and his mother's dark blue eyes. His cheeks were red from the cold, and he pulled his watch cap from his head and threw it on the table.
    “Disgusting boy!” Agnes waved a wooden spoon at him, looking fierce, but the love she felt for him was evident in her eyes. “Get that hat off my kitchen table!”
    He laughed, and grinned warmly at her, stuffing the hat in the pocket of his peacoat. “Sorry, Aggie … Hi, Mom.” Instead of the hat, he tossed an armload of books onto the table. “Boy, it's cold out there.” His hands were red, he never wore gloves, and he had walked the last block home, a friend had dropped him off. And he strode straight to the refrigerator to give himself sustenance until dinner. He ate constantly, portions that would have frightened anyone, yet'he was thin as a rail, and had his father's spare frame and powerful shoulders.
    “Stay out of there. You'll be eating dinner in less than an hour.” Agnes waved the spoon again and he grinned.
    “Just a snack, Aggie … it's okay … I'm starving.” He stuffed a handful of salami into his mouth as Sarah looked at him. He was a man, and a handsome one. He had his own life, own friends, and in a few months he'd be in college. Did he really need her now? Would it make a difference to him? Suddenly she couldn't imagine that her presence there meant anything to him, as he turned to look at her, struck by the somber look in her eyes. “Something wrong, Mom?”
    “No, no,” she shook her head fervently, just as she had when Agnes had asked her. “I was just trying to decide whether or not to go out to dinner with your father. What are you up to tonight? Still studying for exams?”
    He nodded. He was a good student, a fine young man, a person she admired, her firstborn, and still the most like her in many ways, although he was less rebellious than she had been at his age. “Yeah, my last one's