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They wanted him to be a lawyer.
    That reminded me of Angelica’s opinion about Sammie. I needed Max to assure me that he didn’t really think Sammie had a dark future as a klepto criminal in some prison cell, but he was ensconced in his study.
    I glanced at my watch. I realized it was late, and I didn’t have time to make dinner. I ordered pizza instead, ignoring the tug of guilt I felt for not planning ahead. While I waited for it to be delivered, I paced the house, feeling vaguely restless. Not that I didn’t have a lot to do. I had bookkeeping to do for Max. A house to keep. I also had the never-ending piles of laundry. I even had a stack of books from the library, but I wasn’t interested in any of them. Frankly, I was just bored.
    Most of the women I knew at church were content to be at home or at least wished they could be home. Knowing that piled more guilt on my head, because I wasn’t content. That made me a failure in my eyes. Aren’t all women supposed to adore taking care of their families full-time?
    I wandered back into the kitchen. Sammie had tossed her coat on the back of a chair. I picked it up, ready to hang it on a peg next to the back door, but I felt something hard in the pocket. I reached inside and pulled out a squashed, unopened pack of gum and a rock that looked very similar to the rocks in Hayley’s flower beds. The package of gum looked like it had been run over by a truck and probably came from the parking lot at the Gas ’n’ Go. At least it wasn’t used, but it still grossed me out, and I tossed it in the trash. Then I balanced the rock in my palm.
    A rock is no big deal, I told myself. Kids always pick up stuff like rocks. But a little voice in the back of my head asked me if maybe Angelica was right. And worse, it told me if I were a better mother and more content maybe Sammie wouldn’t have kleptomaniacal tendencies.
    “Mom!” Charlie yelled from the family room. “I can’t hear Mike over Chris.” My middle son spent hours each day on his cell phone with his best friend, Mike. Anyone who says males don’t talk as much as females is seriously unobservant. It’s just the topics that differ.
    I realized my youngest son had been noisy for a while. I’d tuned him out because the sounds were the whiny kind of talking he did for self-entertainment and not because he was in need or wanted attention. I could tell the difference, so I had learned to ignore the noise. Not everyone in the family had the same ability.
    I went into the family room, scooped Chris out of his activity center, and carried him with me to the kitchen, where I stuck him in a high chair and covered his round cheeks with kisses. He beamed at me. Something crunched under my feet as I walked to the counter, but I ignored it, not wanting to be reminded of my housekeeping failures. As I cut up a banana for him, I heard the soft padding of bare feet behind me. I turned and saw Max.
    “Hey, I really need to talk to you,” I said.
    “Dadadadadadadada,” Chris said, holding out his arms.
    Max took Chris’s hands in his and blew on them, making whooshing sounds. Chris chortled. Then Max looked at me. “I heard the little guy yakking. I have a feeling he’s always going to be vocal.”
    I smiled. “Probably.”
    Max came over and snaked his arms around my waist, and I leaned back against him.
    Then I felt him shift back and forth. “What’s on the floor?”
    We both looked down. Me with dread, thinking it had to be Cheerios or something the kids had dropped.
    “Is that. . .gravel?” he asked, wiggling his toes.
    “No-o-o.” I reached down and scooped up a familiar substance. “It’s kitty litter. Must have been stuck in my shoes. I have new trainers, and they have deep treads.”
    While I swept up the pieces of litter, I told him about buying supplies from Adler’s Pet Emporium and the hole in the litter bag. Then about our visit to Hayley’s house.
    “Mother told me you decided Sammie could have the