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They went to the Hot Shoppe. Shirley ate a salad while Stephanie had soup, four rolls, fried chicken, a chocolate shake, and a helping and a half of blueberry pie with coffee ice cream. Where does she put it, Shirley wondered fondly, in her wrists? The child was slender as a fleeting hope.Shirley lit a cigarette over her coffee and looked through the window on her right. The river was dark and currentless, waiting.
“Can I have some more coffee cake, Mom?”
Shirley turned to her, and as often happened, caught her breath and felt again that ache on seeing Steve’s image in Stephanie’s face. It was the angle of the light.
“How can a pixie like you eat this much, huh?” Shirley said jokingly and stuck out her tongue at her daughter. Stephanie did the same.
While Stephanie was eating, Shirley remembered when she and Steve first met. It was at a bar in New York City. She was introduced to him by a friend and the moment he walked through the door, she immediately knew that he was the man she wanted to be with. How wrong I was...
“I enjoyed my dinner, Mom.”
Shirley dropped her glance to Stephanie’s plate.”
“Going to leave that cake?” she asked her.
Stephanie lowered her eyes. “I ate some candy.”
Shirley stubbed out her cigarette and chuckled. “Let’s go.”

They were back before seven. Willie and Karl had already returned. Stephanie made a dash for the basement playroom, eager to finish the sculpture for her mother. Shirley headed for the kitchen to pick up the script. She found Willie brewing coffee; coarse; open pot. She looked irritable and sullen.
“Hi, Willie, how’d it go? Have a real nice time?”
“Do not ask.” She added an eggshell and a pinch of salt to the bubbling contents of the pot. They had gone to a movie, Willie explained. She had wanted to see the Beatles, but Karl had insisted on an art- house film about Mozart. “Terrible,” she simmered as she lowered the flame. “That dumbhead!”
“Sorry ‘bout that.” Shirley tucked the script underneath her arm. “Oh, Willie, have you seen that dress that I got for Stefs last week? The blue cotton?”
“Yes, I see it in her closet. This morning.”
“Where’d you put it?”
“It is there.”
“You didn’t maybe pick it up by mistake with the cleaning?”
“It is there.”