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door.
    He drove home the long way, with the windows wide open.
    Sarah was waiting up for him, knitting. “What took you so long?”
    “Had to finish up something at work. I told you.”
    She wrinkled what LeRoy used to think of as her pretty nose. “I hope you’re planning to take a shower.”
    Later that same evening, Alyssa’s mother called out to her from the kitchen. “How was the knitters’ group, honey?”
    “Okay, Mom.”
    “I’ve made lasagna. Would you like some?”
    “I’m not hungry, thanks.” Alyssa took her sweatshirt from the rack in the front hall and pulled her headband over her cropped hair. “I’m going out again.”
    “Where are you going now?”
    “Just out.”
    “You need to eat something, honey.” Her mother stopped in the doorway, holding the pan of lasagna.
    “Maybe later, Mom.” Alyssa opened the door. Her mother was still talking, so she waited.
    “You’ve lost weight, Alyssa. You’ve got to eat.”
    “I can’t deal with food now, Mom. See you later.”
    “When will you be home?”
    “I don’t know. Don’t wait up,” and Alyssa shut the door gently.
    Victoria answered the knock on her kitchen door. “Well, good evening, Alyssa.”
    “I’m sorry to be coming here so late, Mrs. Trumbull.”
    “It’s not late. Have you had supper yet? I’ve got some nice soup.” Tendrils of savory-smelling steam wafted up from a pot simmering on the stove.
    “Thanks, Mrs. Trumbull, but I don’t want anything. I hope I’m not bothering you?”
    “Of course not.” Alyssa was the granddaughter of one of Victoria’s childhood friends. She resembled her grandmother so much that Victoria had a feeling of time running backward. The young woman was probably in her twenties, but seemed like a teenager. Her hair was cut short like a boy’s and she had a boy’s slender build. “You look as though you could use a little warmth. There’s a fire in the parlor.”
    Alyssa was wearing her hooded navy sweatshirt with TRI-TOWN AMBULANCE printed on it in large white letters. She’d pulled the sleeves down over her hands.
    Victoria led the way through the dining room and into the parlor, where McCavity lay stretched out, his soft belly fur toward the fire. Victoria settled herself into her mouse-colored wing chair. Alyssa stood uncertainly by the coffee table, hugging herself.
    “Have a seat.” Victoria indicated the horsehair sofa, and Alyssa perched on the edge.
    “I hope we don’t have a frost tonight,” said Victoria, wondering why Alyssa had come to her.
    “Yes, ma’am.” Alyssa looked down at her hands, which were clasped together between her knees.
    “You never can predict what Island weather will do,” said Victoria.
    Alyssa nodded.
    “I think you need a glass of sherry.” Victoria got up from her seat and headed for the kitchen.
    She returned a few minutes later carrying a brass tray with a bottle of sherry, two glasses, and crackers and cheese. Alyssa had moved from the couch to the floor, where she sat with her legs crossed, stroking McCavity.
    “Be careful not to pat his stomach,” warned Victoria. “He turns into a wildcat.”
    Alyssa held up her hand. Thin red lines extended from knuckles to thumb. “He’s already explained that to me.”
    “There’s witch hazel in the bathroom,” Victoria said. “Don’t you want to put some on that scratch?”
    Alyssa got to her feet. “I’d probably better.”
    She returned, holding a soggy cotton pad on her hand. Victoria breathed in the clean, pungent smell of witch hazel, a remembered cure-all for childhood scratches and mosquito bites. Alyssa dropped to the floor again near McCavity. He rolled over on his back, belly exposed.
    She smiled and moved her hand away.
    Victoria put a chunk of cheese on a cracker and Alyssa took it absently.
    “You remind me so much of your grandmother,” Victoria said softly. “When she had something on her mind, it took her a long time to get around to talking about it.”
    Alyssa