Both Jannie and Damon knew I was having some trouble in my life lately, for the past fewmonths, anyway. They were trying to cheer me up. We were playing and whistling the blues,soul, and a little fusion, but we were also laughing and carrying on, as children like uswill.

I loved these times with my kids more than I loved all the rest of my life put together, and Ihad been spending more and more time with them. The Kodak pictures of children always remindme that my babies will be seven and five years old only one time. I didn't plan to miss any ofit.

We were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps running up the wooden stairs of our backporch. Then the doorbell rang: one, two, three tinny rings. Whoever was out there was in a bighurry.

“Ding-dong the witch is dead.” Damon offered his inspirational thought for the moment. He waswearing wraparound shades, his impression of a cool dude. He was a cool little dude, actually.

“No, the witch isn't,” countered Jannie. I'd recently noticed that she had become a staunchdefender of her gender.

“It might not be news about the witch,” I said, with just the right timing and delivery. Thekids laughed. They get most of my jokes, which is a frightening thought.

Someone began to pound insistently against the door frame, and my name was shouted in aplaintive and alarming way. Goddamnit, leave us be.

We don't need anything plaintive or alarming in our lives right now.

“Dr. Cross, please come! Please! Dr. Cross,” the loud shouts continued. I didn't recognize thewoman's voice, but privacy doesn't seem to count when your first name is Doctor.

I held the kids down, my hands fastened onto the tops of their small heads. “I'm Dr. Cross,not you two. Just keep on humming and hold my place. I'll be right back.“ ”I'll be back!” saidDamon in his best Terminator voice. I smiled at his joke. He is a second-grade wise guyalready.