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does not compute.
    I give Ted a big, BIG wink. “Later,” I say.
    Ted recovers (give him credit for SOMETHING) and makes conversation with Zeke.
    “When did you get here?” Ted asks.
    “Late,” says Zeke. “Can I have any cereal I want?”
    “One bowl,” says Maggie firmly. “But you can put any cereal you want into it.”
    “Right,” says Ted. “Be my guest.” He jumps up and begins lining up cereal boxes on the table.
    When he is finished he looks from you to Maggie to Zeke. He shakes his head.
    “Gotta go,” he says. “Nice to see you, Maggie, Zeke.”
    “ ‘Bye,” Zeke says.
    Maggie gulps down some OJ. You go into your breakfast-chef routine and manage to put
    together pancakes. Zeke demands three, and Maggie accepts the two you offer. You
    compromise on the missing-syrup issue by heating apple jelly in the microwave. You tell Zeke it is special apple syrup.
    He goes for it. He’s a good kid.
    Maggie forks up the pancakes and tells you, politely, that they’re good. She drinks MORE juice.
    Silence.
    You get that Maggie doesn’t want to talk about it. You don’t ask questions.
    You can wait her out.
    It’s Zeke who says, “I like this better than my house. I hate my house. Why can’t Dad come home? Why can’t he make Mom act right?”
    That about covers it, you figure.
    You and Zeke both look at Maggie.
    Zeke says, “Don’t we count as much as his movie?”
    Maggie speaks at last. “Good point, Zeke,” she says slowly. “We should count at least that much. We should.”
    “Yeah,” says Zeke. He eats more pancakes.
    “He’s right,” you say. “Your father should be here. This is too much for you, Maggie. Way too much. It’s not fair — to Zeke or you. Or to your mother, if you want to go there.”
    “I don’t,” Maggie answers. She stands up, takes dishes to the sink, rinses them, and loads them in the petrified forest of dirty dishes in the dishwasher.
    She takes a box of dishwasher soap off the counter and sets the dishwasher to work.
    “Maggie?” you say.
    She answers, “May I use your phone?”
    You nod at the phone on the kitchen counter. She grabs it and dials. “Dad?” she says. “It’s me.
    You have to come home. Now. Things are out of control. … No. No. … I mean it, Dad. … No, you can’t call me back later. Zeke and I aren’t home. We couldn’t … Mom was out of control.”
    She pauses to listen for a minute.
    “No,” she says.
    She listens some more.
    “NO!” she says. “You come home now or I’m going to turn Mom into the police. I mean it.”
    Zeke’s eyes go round.
    She listens. She says, “All right, then.”
    She hangs up.
    She looks sooo relieved.
    “He’s catching the next plane back,” she says.
    Zeke says, “The police?”
    “No way, Zeke. Don’t worry. I was just being tough with Dad.”
    “Oh,” he says.
    I meet Maggie’s eyes. “Good for you,” I say.
    Bookstore. Afternoon Break. Baby-sitting
    You are baby-sitting in the bookstore. That means that Zeke is reading in the kids’ section. You are sitting in the beanbag chair (kid-sized, but adequate), making sure he stays safe and happy, more or less.
    He’s taking all this in stride. After his astute situational commentary this A.M., he’s kept to himself.
    You hadn’t intended to bring Maggie and Zeke to work, but what else could you do with them?
    Leaving them alone in your house isn’t a kind thing.
    You’ve learned to live in the cave. You’ve learned that if you keep your room clean, the chaos and grime do not bother you. Too much.
    But Maggie is different.
    Sunny and Maggie are hauling out boxes of display props. Mr. W. has been looking sad —
    missing Mrs. W, I think. He touches some of the items in the boxes and then backs away.
    Sunny catches him at it.
    She says, “Dad. Mom’s watching you shirk your work.”
    For a moment, Mr. W is still. Then he smiles. Not a 100% smile, but a smile. His eyes meet Sunny’s and she gives him the same kind of smile