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sweetheart. Linda will get it for you while Mommy’s upstairs. Okay?”
    Peg put Jennie back into the booster seat and walked over to John, who was now wide awake. She ran her fingers through his hair and watched them glide across his head as he twisted and turned in his high chair. Then she looked up at Linda.
    “I don’t have much time. It’s almost twenty of seven, and I need to call John before he leaves the office. If he hasn’t already. After that, while I’m packing, could you call the Claytons for me, explain the situation, and see if they can come over to watch the kids until John gets home? So you’re not tied up here anymore? Is that okay?”
    “Sure,” Linda replied. “Not a problem. Go.”
    Peg nodded in thanks, then lifted John out of the high chair and held him close to her chest. She closed her eyes and gave him a lingering kiss on the top of his head, feeling the warmth of his skin and the softness of his hair with her lips. She held him for perhaps half a minute and then slowly, reluctantly, bent down to slide him back into the high chair. Once she was certain he was secure, she straightened up and stood next to the high chair for a few more seconds, one hand on his shoulder, looking first at his upturned face and then at Jennie.
    Suddenly, she leaned across the table, kissed Jennie on the forehead and left the kitchen. John squirmed in his high chair, trying to find his mother, wondering where she had gone. Jennie silently watched her disappear around the corner.

Thirteen
    I should’ve been out of here a half hour ago , I thought as I surveyed the mountain of paperwork strewn from one end of my desk to the other, exasperated that I was still nowhere near an acceptable breaking off point.
    And why hasn’t Peg called? I asked myself, looking at my watch for what must have been the twentieth time. It was now almost six forty. She should have called two hours ago. She said she’d call as soon as she got home.
    “So why the hell hasn’t she called?” I said out loud without meaning to.
    As I was having this conversation with myself, I heard the receptionist’s telephone ring in the outer office and looked at my phone console to see what line was flashing. A call on any one of the first four outside lines at this hour was probably a customer who didn’t know we were on Eastern Time. A call on the fifth line, “04” as we called it, at this time of night was personal, either my parents or Peg.
    It was “04” that was flashing, but just in case, I answered it officially. “Good evening. Herbert Products.”
    “John, it’s me.”
    “Hey, kid. Where you been? I’ve been worried about you.”
    “I just got in.”
    “I thought your appointment was at three-thirty.”
    “It was. I just got back from seeing Dr. Goldstein.”
    “Who’s he?”
    Peg started to answer me, but before she was able to she began to cry, and within a second or two she was sobbing uncontrollably and unable to speak.
    “Peg? Who’s Dr. Goldstein?”
    No answer.
    “Peg. Talk to me. Who’s Dr. Goldstein?”
    Again Peg tried to speak, but again she failed and continued to sob.
    “Sweetheart, you’ve gotta calm down. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong. Who’s Dr. Goldstein?”
    Still no answer. Hysteria and panic were now in control.
    “Peg,” I shouted into the receiver. “Stop it! Calm down! Take deep breaths and calm down! You have to calm down!”
    My voice must have reached her because almost immediately I heard her breathing into the phone, rapid shallow breaths at first, and then as the seconds passed, deeper, more regular breaths. I could sense she was regaining control.
    “Are you all right?” I asked hesitantly, hoping I was not going to trigger another panic attack by asking questions too soon after she had calmed down.
    “Yes,” was the muted reply after several more breaths. “I’m sorry for behaving like this,” she continued, “but I’m so scared, John. I’m so