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sauce. It was topped with more shredded cheese and some crushed corn chips that formed a delectable crust. Marguerite had provided the beverages, and she’d made her namesake Margaritas with white wine instead of tequila, since the sisters didn’t drink hard liquor. They were delicious, a perfect complement to the hot dish. Hannah had downed two, and she’d been very careful navigating the thirty feet that separated their second-floor condo units.
    â€œWhat are you doing, Moishe?” Hannah hurried over to steady her cat on the narrow windowsill. She looked out, but she saw only windows with curtains drawn at the unit next door. “There’s nothing there. Clara and Marguerite are out at the hospital today.”
    â€œYow!” Moishe said, as if to contradict her, but he let her pick him up and cuddle him. He even licked her chin, which only happened when he was feeling affectionate.
    â€œThank you,” Hannah said, giving him a scratch behind his ear. Then she carted him out of the room, shut the door tightly behind her making sure that it latched, and took him off to the kitchen. But when she put him down in front of his food bowl, he turned around to look at her ruefully, as if to say, What are you trying to do here? I don’t want this stuff.
    â€œOkay. Just let me change clothes and I’ll get you something you’ll like better,” Hannah promised, heading off to the bedroom with Moishe following in her wake.
    It took a few minutes, but at last Hannah was dressed in an outfit that her mother would deem appropriate for an older sister of a Miss Tri-County contestant. She brushed her hair, secured it with the clasp Michelle had given her for her birthday, and turned to face Moishe.
    â€œOkay?” she asked him. She was wearing the lightweight summer suit that Delores had bought her several years ago. The pants and top were made of a crinkled material that reminded Hannah of the pinstriped seersucker pants and jacket that her father had worn. Hers was navy blue with a white stripe, and her father’s had been tan with a white stripe. Now that she thought about it, Delores had bought her father’s suit, too. And her father had always hated it. Hannah thought about that for a split second, but time was flying and food was more important than rejecting her mother’s fashion guidance. “No time to change; it’ll have to do,” she said, leading the way to the kitchen.
    Once she’d arrived, she put Moishe down on the floor. “Tuna?” she asked the cat, who loved Chicken of the Sea. But Moishe wasn’t even looking at his food bowl. He was sitting in the doorway, watching her with a hopeful expression that Hannah interpreted to mean, I don’t really care what you eat as long as it’s good and I get some.
    â€œA Denver sandwich?” Hannah asked, smiling when her cat’s ears perked up. “With or without onions and peppers?”
    Moishe’s expression changed slightly, something that only Hannah could interpret. At least she thought she could interpret it. Moishe wanted his portion without peppers or onions, and he’d appreciate it if she’d double the ham.
    â€œOkay. I’ll call you when it’s ready. If you’re still interested in watching for the neighbors, you can see their unit from the back of the couch. It’s a lot more comfortable up there, and you won’t slip off the windowsill.”
    Hannah spent the next few minutes chopping ham, green peppers, and onions, and wondering why a Denver sandwich was named after the mile-high city. She whipped up eggs in a glass with a fork, the way her Grandma Ingrid had done, and poured them into a buttered, preheated frying pan. She sprinkled chopped ham, minced green peppers, and finely chopped onions over the top, except for the section that would be the penumbra if her frying pan were a full moon. In that sickle-shaped portion, she put only ham and she