She would busy herself with Nora, arranging the day, then stand in front of the hall mirror, touching her hair, smoothing out her wool skirt, while a cigarette burned in the ashtray on the table where they put the mail. When Nick came downstairs she would look surprised, as if she had forgotten he was in the house, then nervously pick up her lipstick to get ready. Her new dress, with its tight cinched waist and fitted top, seemed designed to hold her upright, every piece of her in place.

“Have they gone?” she said, putting on the lipstick.

“Uh-huh. Dad made one of them laugh.”

Her hand stopped for a minute, then the red tube continued along her lip. “Did he,” she said, blotting her lips, but it wasn’t a question. “Well, I’ll give them another five minutes.”

“They never wait for you, you know,” Nick said. It was one of the things that puzzled him. His mother walked to the hearings alone every day, not even a single straggler from the pack of hats waiting behind to catch her. How did they think she got there?

“They will one day,” she said, picking up her hat. “Right now all they can think about is your father. And his jokes.” She caught the edge in her voice and glanced at him, embarrassed, then went back to the hat.

“There was only one,” Nick said.

“I know,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean- Check the window again, would you? And shouldn’t you be getting ready for school?”

“I am ready,” he said, going over to the window. “I don’t see why I can’t go to the trial.”

“Not again, Nicky, please. And it’s not a trial. For the hundredth time. It’s a hearing. That’s all. A congressional hearing.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Your father’s not a criminal, that’s the difference. He’s not on trial for anything.”

“Everybody acts like he is.”

“What do you mean? Has anyone said anything to you at school?”

Nick shrugged.