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tell me what the soups are for today.”
    “We have mock turtle, chicken noodle, tomato basil, and broccoli cheese.”
    “I’ll have the tomato basil with a grilled cheese sandwich.”
    “Excellent choice, ma’am.  And to drink?”
    “Iced tea.  And don’t bring it out so full of ice that it’s water by the time I get around to it.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    He walked back to the kitchen, sending an urgent message up to heaven.  By the time he fetched her iced tea, dished up her soup with an extra frilly doily under her bowl and gathered her sandwich from the grill to cut it into precise fourths, he had the answer.  He also had a tiny American flag pin that he placed on her plate.
    He set her plate in front of her, but before he knew what was happening, she reached out a gnarled hand and grabbed his wrist.  “What do you think you are doing?”
    “Serving your food.”
    “Since when does Saul start handing out American flag pins?
    “He thought you might enjoy wearing it.”
    “I hate America.  I hate everything it stands for.”
    Michael went down on his haunches to look her in the eye.  “You don’t mean that.”
    “I do.  America took my son from me.  And when I wanted to bury him with full military honors, they told me I couldn’t, that he wasn’t a veteran.  He had served during “peacetime.”  Some peacetime. My Michael sat in Korea on the wrong side of the thirty-eighth parallel for two years.  Two weeks before he was to come home, he was killed by a sniper bullet.  But he is not considered a veteran.  I couldn’t bury him with veteran’s honors.  Now, you tell me why I should sit here and eat my tomato soup and put on your damn pin and tell you how much I love America.  It’s been fifty-five years since he’s been gone.  But I won’t forget.  I’ll never forget.”  She pushed her soup away and with her limping walk, stalked out of the restaurant. 
    Ned was there to greet him behind the kitchen grill.  “I guess you found out what was bothering her.  The problem is, she’ll never come back.  And she was one of Saul’s regulars.  Nice work, Sherlock.”
    It was eleven o’clock by the time Michael returned to his apartment.  His feet hurt and his neck ached.  He longed to talk to Leslie, but no light shone under her door.  He went into his miniscule bathroom, stripped off his clothes and washed away the scent of garlic and sadness.

Chapter Four
     
    Third week in October
     
    Nighttime.  Lovely nighttime when the sun was down and the lamps were on in the apartment, giving it an ambiance it didn’t have in the daylight.  I could put on my comfy pajamas and settle in to the sofa with the script in my lap. “This dialogue totally sucks.  He’s made the woman character into this girl who acts as if she just fell off the turnip truck.”  I leaned back against the sofa, my legs crossed underneath me, a position I was sure I wouldn’t be able to hold in a few months when my belly stuck out further than my breasts. 
    “So?”  Marian stood behind the breakfast bar measuring out a fourth cup of granola to add to her vanilla yogurt.  “How are you going to fix it?”
    “Darn good question.”  I stuck my pencil in my mouth and clamped down on it.
    “You know that’s not good for your teeth or your immune system, don’t you?”
    “I always studied best in college when I chewed on a pencil.”
    “I’m surprised you made it through without breaking out in a rash.”
    “No, only this baby makes me break out in a rash.  Or whatever that dark skin is on my face.”
    “Mask of pregnancy, babe.  Are you using that cover up I brought you?”
    “When I’m home by myself, I don’t need it.  I don’t want to waste it.  What do you think of this line? Whatever you think is best for us, I know it will be right.  I love you and trust you.”
    “Ew.  Gag me with a spoon.  You’ve got your work cut out for you.”
    “The trouble is, in order to change the