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what all her time with Buddy had showed her: She could do much more than she’d ever believed.
    Although Lynnie hadn’t been in this office since her first day, it looked the same: the desk for the secretary, Maude; the Persian rug; the Windsor chairs; the grandfather clock; and, off to the side, the wooden door to Uncle Luke’s office. It smelled the same, too: leather, tobacco, books. Lynnie inhaled, enjoying the scents, as Uncle Luke retrieved a cigarette from a silver holder, then looked at Clarence, waiting until he got the hint. His jaw set, Clarence lit the cigarette with his lighter. Then Uncle Luke turned his back on them both and lifted the phone. Lynnie heard a ring across the grounds, and with a pleasant skip in her throat, she realized it was nearby—maybe even A-3, Lynnie’s cottage. If so, maybe Kate might be there, and Lynnie would be safe.
    Kate, like most staff, put in overtime. There was too much to do, with one attendant to every forty residents. Maybe thatwas why some staff had a mean streak toward residents and one another, though fortunately some staff didn’t. The best ones even brought in snacks from home, showed photos of their children, ignored the nasty nicknames—“Left-Hook Larry,” “Mr. Magoo,” “Poopy-pants,” or the one made up for Lynnie, “No-No.” They might even try to develop a resident’s skill.
    That’s what Kate had done. Five years into Lynnie’s stay—five years after Lynnie’s intake IQ test classified her as an upper division imbecile and they stuck her in a cottage with other low grades—Kate noticed that Lynnie wasn’t just pushing the mop around when she did the janitorial work that was part of her treatment. She was making designs on the tile with the mop, the suds sparkling like iridescent crescents in the light. Kate told a psychologist, who ordered a new IQ test, and then Lynnie was promoted to the moron cottage. That’s where she met Doreen, a short, blond girl with Chinese-looking eyes, whose iron-framed bed was twelve inches from her own. A little while later, when Kate bent the rules and brought crayons to the dayroom, she observed that Lynnie drew horses—proud blue horses with flowing green manes. “That’s so good, sweet pea,” Kate said, and arranged for Lynnie to come to her office in the staff cottage. Kate told everyone it was so Lynnie could help out, but really it was so Lynnie could sit at Kate’s desk and draw. Kate kept pads and colored pencils in her file cabinet. When Lynnie arrived, Kate would lock the door and unlock the cabinet, and when Lynnie left, Kate would place Lynnie’s art in the drawer and turn the key in the lock.
    Down the hill, the ringing phone was picked up.
    “We’re here,” Uncle Luke said. “Come get her.”
    He set down the phone. Then he opened the door to his office, passing a seated Clarence without a glance, and closed his door.
    Clarence’s lips got thin. If Lynnie hadn’t heard that Clarence’s friend Smokes was Uncle Luke’s brother, she wouldn’t have figuredit out. Uncle Luke never let anyone see him favoring his brother and Clarence over anyone else. Yet everyone knew he did, because Smokes and Clarence got away with everything. They were the only ones with dogs. They were the only ones who smelled like alcohol. They were the only ones who—
    Lynnie turned to the window. She had something better to think about: Buddy holding the baby high and laughing; Lynnie feeling new warmth when she held the baby in her arms.
    The door opened. She spun around.
    Kate!
    Lynnie let out a joyful sound but held herself back from running for a hug.
    Kate looked at Lynnie with a sad smile. When Kate first arrived, after losing her husband to another woman, she’d been curvy, with nice makeup and dresses with full, colorful skirts. Over time she’d gained weight, lost the makeup, and taken up smoking. She still embroidered her attendant’s coat, though she wore gray or brown skirts now and a necklace with