She honked, waved, jumped from the car, and ran to the front door, the rain tapping out its tireless rhythm on her head and shoulders. The kids met her just inside the house, ducking under her wet trench coat for a hug.

"Hello, my cuties," she said. "What did we learn at school today?"

Kevin hopped up and down. "I made three homers in kickball. We had to play in the gym because of the rain, and all you had to do for a homer was, like, kick it into the bleachers. I rocked their little world, dude."

Kevin wagged his index fingers as if they were six-shooters, then blew the imaginary gun smoke from his fingertips and returned the weapons to their holsters.

"Uh-okay, dude." Tamara stroked Ginger's soft hair. "What about you, pumpkin?"

Ginger looked up and flashed her mother a bright green smile. "I ate a crayon."

"My goodness. You get in the bathroom and brush your teeth right this minute."

"Sorry, Mommy," Ginger said, but Tamara could tell she wasn't. And Tamara had to wait until Ginger was down the hall before she could allow herself to laugh into her hand.

"Has Daddy called?" she asked Kevin.

"Not since we got off the bus."

Tamara looked at the clock. Twenty past five. Robert's shift ended at two, and his production work usually took only a couple of hours at the most. Still, she shouldn't worry. He was a big boy. He would be here.

He wouldn't die on her. Not like Dancing with the Gloomies again. Well, it’s a morbid kind of day, what with this dreary weather. And thinking about the past doesn't do a thing to cheer you up.

"Hon, would you bring some kindling from the laundry room?” she said to Kevin. “I'll build a nice fire and make us a round of hot chocolate."

Kevin whooped in anticipation of a good sugar buzz and skated across the oak floor in his stockinged feet.

Tamara put the kettle on to boil and was rummaging in the cabinets when the whispers returned.