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telephoned everyone on it one by one to tell them that the plans had been canceled. Somehow she managed to get
     through all thecalls without crying. “Better to find out now,” she heard herself saying to them. And fifty out of sixty people actually said,
     “It’s really for the best,” back to her.
    “Hey, thanks for dinner, Ma,” Jeffie said, wiping some ketchup from the side of his mouth. “C’n I be excused?”
    “Sure, baby,” she said, picking up his dish and her empty yogurt container and carrying them to the sink.
    Michael. Why had he called her? She was afraid to think what she was hoping. That he missed her. Wanted to apologize. He would
     have to apologize. Profoundly. He had hurt her so much. Hurt Jeffie too. And left R.J. alone to give once again the news of
     another loss to her little boy.
    “Jeffie,” she had said that day when he’d returned from the school fair. She had watched as Harriet Wallace’s car pulled up
     in the driveway and the back door flew open and Jeffie, laughing heartily at something Matt Wallace had obviously just said
     to him, leaped from the car and ran to the front door. The odor of Michael’s cigarettes still hung in the living room air,
     although immediately after he’d left, R.J., on some automatic nice-Jewish-girl instinct, had emptied the ashtray and washed
     it with hot soapy water, dried it, and put it away.
    “Honey, sit down,” she had said to Jeffie.
    “Uh-oh,” was his reply. He recognized bad news on her face. He sat on the living room sofa with the same look he wore in the
     orthodontist’s waiting room.
    “Michael and I aren’t getting married,” she had blurted out, certain afterward that there were probably dozens of better ways
     of telling him. Maybe she should have started out by saying: “This doesn’t have anything to do with you,” or “This isn’t your
     fault,” the way some parents did when they informed their children of their impending divorce.
    “Okay,” Jeffie said. The lack of expression on his face was eerie.
    “I’m sorry,” R.J. offered. “He told me today that he just can’t do it. I’m sorry,” she said again.
    There was a moment when neither of them spoke or moved; then Jeffie asked, “Can I be excused?”
    No, R.J. thought. Don’t run away from this. Or from me. Let’s talk about it. You need to and God knows
I
do.
    “Yes,” she said. “Yon can be excused.”
    He stood and without looking at her walked out of the living room into the hallway.
    I have to be strong, have to be strong, R.J. said to herself. Dinah was right. I was going to marry him for all the wrong
     reasons—it wouldn’t have been right. Better to find out now instead of…
    “Ma,” she heard a little voice say. When she turned and saw the look on her baby’s face, all her resolve vanished. He was
     running toward her, his arms extended, and when he got to the sofa he collapsed on her lap, his arms around her neck.
    “Oh, honey, this will pass. We’ve made it through so much worse than this. And this is happening for a reason, which is that
     it was wrong. A mistake. I was stupid and made a wrong choice. But something good will come of it. You’ll see.” She felt his
     body shaking with sobs, and the wetness of his tears on her face. Or were they her tears against his?
    Jeffie. Her baby. Tonight, after she heard him go back to his room and turn on the television, she called Michael.
    “Hello?”
    “It’s R.J.,” she said nervously.
    “Hi,” he said. “Thanks for calling back. Listen, I need to talk to you.”
    “What about?” she asked.
    “It’s important,” he said. “Too important to talk about on the phone. I’d like to come over.”
    Come over. No. Jeffie would still be awake for a while. Seeing Michael walk in the door would only confuse him.
    “Not a good idea.”
    “After he’s asleep,” he said, obviously knowing what she was thinking.
    What did he want? Not just to chat, or to see if she was