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demanded.
    “It’s from a friend.”
    “I know, a man,” April said wisely. “Mom gets stuff like this from men, too. But only when they really want to get in her pants.”
    “April!”
    “Well, it’s true. That’s when men send the yuckiest things. I like it better when they send candy. But the ones who send this sort of junk are usually the ones she gets all wound up about and goes off with. For a while.” She pulled out a white bakery box and sniffed diligently. “Well, at least he sent dessert. Chocolate. So who’s this guy who wants to get in your pants?”
    “He does not want—” She stopped. She would not debate this with a child. It was ludicrous. She wrapped herself in Grandma Beatrice’s dignity and looked down her nose. “That is an extremely unseemly topic of conversation for a young lady. Especially for a Craig, who should—”
    The doorbell rang again. With the basket and its contents spread out on her lap, Leslie looked at April. “That must be the pizza. Could you . . .”
    April gave a martyred sigh, but took Leslie’s wallet and conducted the swap of money for pizza. Leslie repacked the basket so she could get plates and napkins.
    April ignored the plate and silently plowed through the pizza without removing her eyes from the TV screen.
    Leslie ate more slowly, but just as silently, pushing aside thoughts of Grady by mulling over what April had revealed.
    Melly had always craved excitement and variety, never settling to anything or—to be honest—anyone. Even Jeff. For better or worse, that marriage probably had lasted because he shared her love of adventure and her very fluid definition of fidelity. Neither Melly nor Jeff had been subtle about such things. Leslie wondered how much April had picked up in her first six years of life, and since her father’s death seven years ago.
    With Jeff gone, Melly rushed from adventure to adventure, from man to man. At first she’d taken her daughter with her, but more and more in recent years Melly had left April with varied relatives.
    Leslie leaned back in the corner of the couch, looking at the girl’s profile. She had the long Craig nose. Grandma Beatrice called it aristocratic. Leslie remembered at April’s age lamenting her own Craig nose as plain big. Eventually, as her grandmother had promised, she grew into her face; her other features strengthened, balancing the Craig nose and creating an attractive whole. But she could remember the agony of waiting.
    “I guess this means the ball game’s off tomorrow.” Beneath April’s insultingly hopeful tone, Leslie caught discomfort, and knew April had been aware of her scrutiny.
    “No. Why on earth would it?”
    “Because you’ll be doing something with this guy.” Her tone said she was addressing someone who’d flunked remedial logic.
    “No, I most definitely will not. I am taking you to a baseball game, that’s what I am doing tomorrow. You’re my guest, and you’re the one I’m spending time with.”
    April flopped back; just looking at her slouch made Leslie’s back ache. Had Leslie detected a flash of surprise before the sullenness slipped into place? “Well, you can force me to go to this stupid baseball game tomorrow because I’m still a kid. But how about this guy, huh? He’s not some poor kid you can boss around. What’re you going to do about him? Huh?”
    * * * *
    Good question.
    And one she sidestepped. Sunday she’d been too tired from the weekend with April. Monday she’d convinced herself the flowers and gourmet basket were gestures, no more.
    But today, when she got home from work, she discovered a package outside her apartment door with the logo of a local department store. She tucked her attaché more firmly under her left elbow, shifted the mail she’d just collected into the same hand and warily picked up the package the size of a truncated shoe box.
    Nothing on the label except her name and address, and the store’s return address. She’d have to open