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doin’ in there anyway? You’re quiet.” 
    “Drawing. Want to see?” 
    Jog the memory. 
    “Okay.” 
    She follows me into the study. Stands off to one side of the drawing board. But her attention’s drawn immediately to the shelves. We keep a lot of books in here, mostly art books and Sam’s medical texts. But I’ve been collecting comic-book and horror action figures for years. I’ve got Superman, Batman and Robin, Green Hornet, the Mummy, the Wolf Man, Frankenstein, Godzilla, Rodan -- there’s probably two dozen or more. Hell, I’ve even got a plastic Jesus. 
    “You have toys!” she says. 
    Wide-eyed, like she’s never seen them before. So much for memory-jogging in this room. 
    “Yeah. I guess I do.” 
    “Can I play with them?” “They’re not really for play. More just to look at.” 
    “Oh.” 
    I can tell she’s disappointed. Like it or not, right now she’s just a kid. And all she’s got are some Barbies and Teddy to play with. I point to the drawing board. 
    “Here, check this out.” 
    I lay out the Samantha pages one by one on the board. 
    “This is what I do in here.” 
    These are pretty good, I think. Some of the best work I’ve done. Moody, and with lots of action. 
    “You do this?” 
    “Yes. You like it?” 
    “Yeah. There’s no color, though.” 
    “Color comes later.” 
    I keep turning the pages and I can see she’s interested. 
    “If would be better if they moved,” she says, “like on TV.” 
    And then she’s looking back at the shelves again. Distracted. I’m only halfway through the pages. 
    I can’t help it, I feel a flash of irritation, maybe even anger. And yeah, it’s anger, all right. Anger at Sam. Not at Lily but at Sam. Sam for doing this. Sam for leaving me. And then anger at myself for feeling that way. It’s not her fault. 
    Is it? 
    I put the pages down and cover them over. 
    “Let’s go see about dinner. What do you say?” 
     
    Dinner is hot dogs and French fries. Her choice. What did I expect? I zap some beans and sauerkraut in the microwave too but she doesn’t touch either one, just slathers her dog and fries with ketchup. I’ve never seen her use ketchup on a hot dog before. Hitherto she’s always been a Gulden’s mustard girl. 
    Around a mouthful of fries she says, “it’s not fair.” 
    “What’s not fair?” 
    “You’ve got toys.” 
    “They’re not really toys. They’re just for show.” 
    She’s pouting. “They’re toys,” she says. “And all I’ve got is Teddy and some stupid dolls.” 
    “I thought you liked those dolls.” 
    “They’re okay, I guess…” 
    But. I’m not stupid. I get it. 
    “You want some other stuff, right? Some of the stuff you saw on TV, maybe?” 
    She brightens right away. 
    “Yeah!” 
    “Okay. After we eat we’ll go on the net and see what we can find. How’s that?” 
    “The net?” 
    No memory of the net either. Sam has sites and files saved by the dozens. 
    “You’ll see.” 
     
    She’s fascinated by the computer. I remember reading somewhere that all kids are. At least at first. 
    We hit the merchandise sites. She’s standing behind me pointing out what she likes while I’m punching in the site addresses and clicking on the items. During the next half hour we purchase an Abby Cadabby Bendable Plush Doll, a Once Upon a Monster video game, a knot-a-quilt package, a Teeny Medley bead set, a Stablemate Deluxe Animal Hospital -- complete with quarter horse, foal, donkey, goat, resident cat and border collie, operating table and bandage box -- and a pair of Curious George pajamas. The pajamas come in kids’ and moms’ sizes so I’ve bought the latter. By the time we get to the Easy Bake Oven and Super Pack, she’s leaning on my shoulders. 
    She smells of fresh soap and traces of hot dog. 
    The Oven and Super Pack alone set me back a hundred dollars but who’s counting. 
    The plush Clifford the Big Red Dog another forty-five. I