She turned into the living room. Hardy, behind her, didn't want to let the topic go. He could score some valuable points here. "You know, Fran, if you really want another baby, you've got to be ready to deal with puke."

"I can deal with it fine," she said over her shoulder. "I just don't want to talk about it, much less conjugate it."

Hardy took the cue. "I puke, you puke, he she or it pukes…"

Suddenly Treya came around the comer from the kitchen. "Who wants another baby?"

Ten minutes later, they were arranged-coffee for the Hardys, tea for the Glitskys-around the large square table that took up nearly all the space in the tiny kitchen. Rachel was dozing, ready to be laid down in her crib, although neither Frannie nor Treya seemed inclined to move in that direction. The treat tonight was a plate of homemade macaroon cookies, still hot from the oven, all coconut and stick-to-the-teeth sweetness. "These," Hardy said to Treya after his first bite, "are incredible. I didn't know normal people could make macaroons."

"Abe can. Not that he's a normal person exactly."

"Or even approximately," Hardy said. "But if he can make these things, maybe there's still some use for him."

"You're both too kind." Glitsky turned to Hardy. "So where did you think they came from? Macaroons."

"I thought they dropped straight out of heaven, like manna in the desert. In fact, I always imagined that manna had kind of a macaroon flavor. Didn't any of you guys? I'm serious." His face lit up with an idea. "Hey, Manna Macaroons. That wouldn't be a bad brand name. We could market them like Mrs. Fields. Abe's Manna Macaroons. We could all get rich…"

Frannie spoke. "Somebody please stop him."

Glitsky jumped in. "It's a good idea, Diz, but I couldn't do it anyway. I'm going back to work next week. Monday."