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Now we get to the root of the problem. Except that last I heard, random break-ins and ex-husbands are beyond ex-wives’ control.” I started to cut in, but she overrode me. “Look, Ellie. I know it’s frustrating. You want answers right now. For all the right reasons. And you’ve had a rough time. But you’re going to have to ride it out. You never know. Maybe the detective will catch those thieves. Maybe the stock will come back.”
    “And maybe there’s a tooth fairy.”
    We turned west past Rachel’s school. We were into a rhythm now, hiking at a good clip. The bicyclists who passed us earlier were now criss-crossing the playground.
    Susan changed the subject. “Marian Iverson’s having a fund-raiser up in Lake Forest in a couple of weeks.”
    “That’s nice.”
    “Doug’s supporting her.” Susan’s husband, a village trustee, is involved in local politics. “Why don’t you come with us?” I wrinkled my nose. When I was young, I joined the revolution, confident that we would topple the fascist pigs corrupting the system. I read the Revolutionary Times and studied my “3M’s”: Mao, Marcuse, and Marx. It didn’t last. I was told I was hopelessly bourgeoise. The most I could aspire to was running a safe-house. Since then I’ve tried to eschew politics.
    “She’s a woman, Ellie. And she came out pro-choice.”
    “I suppose for a Republican that takes courage.”
    Susan giggled. “Come on. Compared to some of the candidates you’ve supported, this one might even win.” I shot her a look. “And you never know. The man of your dreams might be there.”
    I broke into a jog and left her in my dust.

 
     
    Chapter Eleven
     
     
    That afternoon I made a trip to the store to restock my cabinets. At the end of one aisle was an eye-catching display of smoking accessories, including pipe cleaners, butane lighters, and flints. Festooned with colorful ribbons and signs, it wasn’t there to attract young smokers, of course. I picked up a small can of lighter fluid.
    As I pulled into the garage, I got the shakes. I thought about the bottle of bourbon above the refrigerator. That wasn’t a solution. Neither was weed. Or cigarettes. Or any of the other substances I abuse from time to time. I sat in the car until the trembling stopped, wondering if that was going to happen whenever I came home from now on.
    Barry dropped Rachel off at the end of the driveway around four but sped away before I could talk to him. After she unpacked, I poured two glasses of fresh lemonade and opened a box of cookies. She eyed me suspiciously. “What’s wrong?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You never make lemonade and cookies. Something’s wrong.”
    “Okay.” I leaned across the table. “Here it is. Someone broke into the house last night.” When I finished explaining, she jumped up and threw her arms around me. “Oh, Mom, are you all right?”
    “I’m fine, honey.” I buried my face in her neck. Her skin was smooth and warm. Still little girl’s skin.
    “Were you scared?”
    “I wasn’t here when they broke in. But yes, I was scared.” She released her grip and helped herself to another cookie.
    “What did they get?”
    “That’s just it,” I said. “Not much. A few pieces of silver, some jewelry. Nothing of yours.” I took a sip of lemonade. I didn’t mention Skull’s cartons.
    She stroked her jaw with her fingers, just like Dad. “Probably someone on drugs.”
    I nearly choked on my lemonade. “How do you know that?”
    “Everyone knows drug addicts steal to feed their habit.”
    “Oh yeah?”
    “Mom, even Officer Friendly warns kids about stuff like that.”
    Part of the Police Are Your Partners program, no doubt. “Well, the police agree with you. They’re doing what they can, but there is a chance they’ll never catch the people who did it.”
    She grabbed the last cookie off the plate and crammed half of it in her mouth. “That’s okay.” She chewed thoughtfully. “I’ve got you to