“Stuck behind the garbage truck. Ready?" Mike mumbled something that might have been, "Just about.”

Jane sat down for a second in the crumb-spattered place he'd left and prodded her youngest gently in the ribs. "Hey, Todd, old thing, haven't you got anything to say for yourself?”

He tore himself away from a vision of a badly animated character flying between buildings. "Hey, Mom, old thing. I need three dollars to get some colored pencils at school. The teacher said we had to have them for maps today."

“Three dollars? Why didn't you tell me yesterday? I could have picked them up at the store.”

He grinned. "I guess I forgot.”

If Katie, or even Mike had given her that line, she probably would have been irritated, but with Todd — well, it was different. He was still her baby. At ten, he hadn't started to develop the apparent contempt Katie had for her. Jane had no doubt he'd get to that stage in good time. Even Mike, the most sensible and even-tempered of children, occasionally showed signs of it.

She remembered vividly how she'd felt about her parents during her early teens. She'd been sure they were the frumpiest, most embarrassing individuals in the world. She was nearly twenty before she began to realize that they were actually quite interesting, sophisticated people. Most of the time she felt certain her children would come back to liking her when they grew up. But Todd still thought she was okay, and she wanted to hang onto that as long as possible. She needed unreserved love right now more than ever.

Mike shuffled back through the kitchen balancing a backpack of books and a battered tuba case. Somehow he freed a hand long enough to stuff another donut in his mouth. "Mmrphh?" he asked, looking at her and then at the door.