And the front door opened.
It was Tommy, she thought with sudden alarm, seven-year-old Tommy back from school and his cub scout pack meeting. She watched him come in. Mechanically, because there was nothing else to do, she continued down the stairs.
"H'lo," Tommy said, looking at her. "My mother upstairs?"
"Why, no, no, she isn't," Jeanne-Marie said. "She went away for the day. She left a note for your father."
"Who're you?"
"Oh, just a friend. Be—be a good boy until your father gets home, Tommy. Why don't you play with your trains?"
"Who told you I have trains?"
"Oh, your mother told me." She was at the front door now. "Your mother did. Well, g'bye."
"Bye," Tommy said.
A taxi was waiting at the curb. She had known—almost—that it would be. For Jeanne-Marie did not have to seek things out. They sought her—grateful for the privilege.