“We had a terrible day,” the grim lady continued. “Tina wouldn’t stop crying. And you told me that Beth was terlet-trained, but let me tell you she isn’t.”

“She is terlet-, I mean toilet-trained,” Jenny protested. “It’s probably that the girls aren’t used to being here yet.”

“And they won’t get the chance. Your kids are just too much of a handful. You try to understand my position; a three-year-old who isn’t trained and a two-year-old who never stops crying are a full-time job by themselves.”

“Mommy.”

Jenny ignored Mrs. Curtis. Beth and Tina were sitting together on the battered couch in the dark foyer that Mrs. Curtis grandly referred to as the “play area.” Jenny wondered how long they’d been bundled in their outside clothes. With a rush of tenderness, she hugged them fiercely. “Hi, Mouse. Hello, Tinker Bell.” Tina’s cheeks were damp with tears. Lovingly, she smoothed back the soft auburn hair that spilled over their foreheads. They’d both inherited Kev’s hazel eyes and thick, sooty lashes as well as his hair.

“Her was scared today,” Beth reported, pointing at Tina. “Her cried and cried.”

Tina’s bottom lip quivered. She reached up her arms to Jenny.

“And you’re late again,” Mrs. Curtis accused.

“I’m sorry.” Jenny’s tone was absentminded. Tina’s eyes were heavy, her cheeks flushed. Was she starting another siege of croup? It was this place. She never should have settled on it.

She picked up Tina. Fearful of being left behind, Beth slid off the couch. “I’ll keep both girls until Friday, which is a favor,” Mrs. Curtis said, “but that’s it.”

Without saying good night, Jenny opened the door and stepped out into the cold.

It was completely dark now and the wind was sharp. Tina burrowed her head in Jenny’s neck. Beth tried to shield her face in Jenny’s coat. “I only wet once,” she confided.

Jenny laughed. “Oh, Mouse, love! Hang on. We’ll be in the nice warm bus in a minute.”