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was going, she didn’t need any help in that direction.
    Solly was talking. “We sat shiva for Rachel right here in this room. I remember it just like—”
    But before he could get any further a small brown and black dog came skidding in from the hallway, took a flying leap and landed right on Solly’s lap.
    â€œWhere have you been, you naughty girl?” he said softly, stroking the tiny head. The dog licked his hand and then looked up into his face, moist brown eyes dancing with pleasure.
    â€œShe sleeps like the dead,” said Solly to Maxine.
    â€œIn this house, what else?” said Maxine, smiling benignly. He scratched the dog’s back. “Probably didn’t even hear you ring the bell.”
    Maxine reached out and stroked a tan flank. The presence of a living creature was a welcome relief. “It’s a Yorkshire terrier, isn’t it?” It was one of two breeds—the other being Lassie—that she could recognize on sight, but she sounded like an aficionado all the same. “My daughter-in-law—or at least she will be my daughter-in-law when she marries my son Bradley on Saturday—is in the pet business.
    â€œRachel and I had a beautiful wedding,” replied Solly, narrowing the conversation again. Then he looked up. “I’m glad you like dogs. My psychoanalyst said that I would benefit from the company of one of these little creatures. You know, to help me deal with my grief and to start relating to other living creatures again, get back into the mainstream of life and put the past behind me.”
    â€œI understand pets can be very therapeutic,” agreed Maxine, glad of the chance to talk about anything other than Rachel. “What’s her name?”
    â€œRachel,” said Solly, and hearing its name the little dog licked his hand again.
    Solly looked at his watch. “Dinner should be just about ready.” He stood up. “Bring your glass. We can finish our drinks in the kitchen. Come on, Rachel.”
    Maxine followed him and Rachel junior toward the back of the house and the kitchen, glad of any activity that would take her away from the ubiquitous gaze of the Rachel in the living room.
    â€œI hope you like lemon sole,” said Solly.
    â€œLove it,” replied Maxine, a frozen smile stretching her lips wider than necessary. She swallowed hard. It would have to be lemon sole.
    â€œGood. It’s—”
    Maxine interrupted. “I know. Don’t tell me—you were about to say it was one of Rachel’s favorites.”
    Solly turned and smiled. “No, Rachel couldn’t stand lemon sole. It’s one of my favorites.”
    â€œOh.” Maxine felt more than a little foolish then. Maybe she was overreacting. The man had to mourn his wife, after all. She was just being overly critical and overly sensitive. It must be the sherry.
    â€œHow long has Rachel been … gone?” She asked in atonement.
    â€œSeven years,” replied Solly, his back to her as he dished the sole onto the plates. “But it seems like yesterday.”
    â€œMore like today,” muttered Maxine.
    Solly put the plates on the table. “You don’t mind if we eat in here, do you? It’s so much more intimate and less formal than the dining room.”
    Maxine shook her head. “No, this is fine.” There were probably pictures of Rachel in the dining room.
    Solly pulled out her chair and she sat down. Then he pulled out the chair at the head of the table and, picking up the Yorkshire terrier, he placed her in the seat. “You don’t mind, do you? This was Rachel’s chair.”
    Resignedly, Maxine shook her head. “Mind? Why should I mind?”
    Then he took the chair opposite her. “Dig in, as they say,” he said, lifting his knife and fork.
    Maxine took a bite. It wasn’t too bad. At least the fish overpowered the lemon instead of the other way around.
    â€œYou