"Fine. Great." Connie put on her coat and flicked her ponytail out of the collar with a deft backhand. "He was a little fish." She got her brown purse and packed totebag from the windowseat. "Will, tell Mommy how great you did without the kickboard."

Will pouted, a mood-swing typical of toddlers and manic-depressives.

Connie zipped up her coat. "Then we drew pictures, right? You told me Mommy liked horses."

"I drew it," Will said, cranky.

"I love my picture, sweetie." Ellen was hoping to stave off a kiddie meltdown and she didn't blame him for it. He was plainly tired, and a lot was asked of three-year-olds, these days. She asked Connie, "He didn't nap, did he?"

"I put him down, but he didn't sleep."

"Too bad." Ellen hid her disappointment. If Will didn't nap, she wouldn't get any time with him before bed.

Connie bent down to him. "See ya later. . ."

Will was supposed to say "alligator," but he didn't. His lower lip was already puckering.

"You wanna say goodbye?" Connie asked.

Will shook his head, his eyes averted and his arms loose at his sides. He wouldn't make it through a book tonight, and Ellen loved to read to him. Her mother would turn over in her grave if she knew Will was going to bed without a book.

"All right then, bye-bye," Connie said, but Will didn't respond, his head downcast. The babysitter touched his arm. "I love you, Will."

Ellen felt a twinge of jealousy, however unreasonable. "Thanks again," she said, and Connie left, letting in an icy blast of air. Then she closed and locked the door.

"I DREW IT!" Will dissolved into tears, and the drawing fluttered to the hardwood floor.

"Aw, baby. Let's have some dinner."

"All by myself!"

"Come here, sweetie." Ellen reached for him but her hand hit the bag of Chinese food, knocking it to the floor and scattering the mail. She righted it before the food spilled, and her gaze fell on the white card with the photo of the missing boy.

Uncanny.

She picked up the bag of Chinese food and left the mail on the floor.

For the time being.