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her. She stood up straighter, spoke with authority.
    “Thanks for the info, Terry,” she said. “Then I guess I’m confused. According to Mrs. Dunmire’s contract, she has sixty days to reschedule. Yes, yes, of course.” From the corner of her eye, she saw the girls come in. When they spotted her with contract in hand, phone to her ear and the older lady watching with hands clasped in hope, they rolled their eyes and went somewhere else. They were used to seeing their mother in ombudsman mode.
    “Let me check with my client on that, Terry.” She pressed the mute button on the phone. “He says you didn’t say you’d ship within sixty days.”
    She sniffed. “I didn’t get a chance to say anything. But the extra time would solve the problem. I’m sure of it.”
    Grace went back to Terry. “I’m a little concerned about this weight discrepancy here, too, so maybe you should send another agent out to redo the estimate.” She honestly liked doing this—sticking up for people. Whatever floats your boat, as Steve would say.
    A few minutes later, she hung up the phone. “Well,” she said, “that should help some.”
    Marcia rolled her walker toward the door. “You have no idea. Good Lord, I’m a babe in the woods. Since my husband died I’m finding new areas of incompetence every day.”
    “No,” said Grace. “You’re finding new challenges. And new ways to shine.”
    “You’re very wise for such a young woman.”
    “Bless you for thinking I’m young,” said Grace, remembering the dumpy housewife in the mirror. “And wise. Actually, I knowthere’s no comparison to being widowed, but every time my husband goes to sea, I find myself having to deal with things on my own. Moving seems to be my specialty.”
    “Are you really an executive relocator?”
    “No, I just said that on the spot, to sound more official. I’ve done it unofficially for years.”
    “You’re very good at it. You should charge for your services.”
    “So I’ve been told. But my clients are all Navy families. I work pro bono. Sometimes I think about doing this professionally, though. But…”
    “It’s a great idea, especially for this area. Boeing, Microsoft, Starbucks, Amazon… It’s the land of the high-profile multinational company.”
    The notion teased at Grace, but she pushed it away. “Do you need help on the stairs?”
    “No, thanks,” Marcia said. “I keep another walker downstairs. Blasted ankle. I broke it playing volleyball.”
    Grace spotted her daughters out on the lawn, pacing. “I’d better be going. The natives are getting restless.”
    “Of course. I didn’t mean to keep you.”
    “It was my pleasure. I love your house.”
    “Do you? We bought it in the sixties when it was all we could afford. I just couldn’t deal with updating it only to put it on the market. Are you planning to buy a house?”
    “Some day,” Grace admitted. “But it’s a long way from the wish to the deed. Steve and I always said that when we were stationed in a place we liked well enough, we’d talk about buying a house.” Although most Navy families did buy homes, Grace and Steve had agreed long ago that a permanent home and mortgage didn’t fit their way of life. But for a while now, she’d been having second thoughts about that decision.
    “I’ve heard people in the service are able to retire young and start a whole new life for themselves.”
    Grace smiled, even as she felt the terrible tension between fantasy and reality. “I’ve heard that, too. But not from my husband.”
    “Well, you could pick a worse place than this to make a permanent home. It’s beautiful and peaceful, just a ferry ride to Seattle, yet far enough from the city to feel safe and quiet.”
    “It’s pretty ideal,” Grace admitted.
    “I’ll tell you what,” Marcia said. “Since you won’t let me pay you for your help, let me do something I’m good at.”
    “You don’t have to—”
    “What I’d like to do,” Marcia said,