Riley frowned. “Grandma doesn’t have bunk beds, Papa.”

Daniel grinned. “It’s an expression, bud. It means lying down to rest.”

“Maybe you’d like to help me one day when I deliver meals,” Cherie said.

“Do you have a motorcycle? Our pizza guy has a motorcycle.”

“Wouldn’t that be fun? Alas, I don’t even have a driver’s license, so they give me a driver. He waits in the car while I take the dinners inside to people who can’t fix a meal for themselves.”

“Why can’t they?” He’d abandoned his artwork to listen to her.

“Mostly because they’re old. Like me.”

He giggled. “You’re not old.”

“Well. Isn’t that nice?” She beamed. “Do you think you’d like to help me out sometime? Your grandma helps on Saturdays. They’d love to see that sweet smile of yours, I can tell you that.”

“Sure. I can, can’t I, Papa?”

Maureen took a quick swig of her wine, hiding her hurt that Riley had asked Daniel for permission instead of her. He was staying with her.

“That’s up to your grandma,” Daniel said. “She’s the boss now.”

“Can I, Grandma?”

“Of course.” She caught Cherie looking intently at her.

“I hafta go to the bathroom.”

“Okay, bud.” Daniel stood. “Let’s go.”

“What’s got your knickers in a twist?” Cherie asked the second they were alone.

“I wish Daniel weren’t here. Frankly, I want Riley to myself.”

“Well, I can see your jealousy, Maureen, and Riley’s going to pick up on that, too. You’ve got Riley. Let go of the old hurt, and everyone will be happier.”

“I’m trying.”

“Building a relationship takes time.”

“I know.” Maureen rubbed her forehead. “I do know. He calls Daniel Papa.” She put a hand to her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud, to sound belligerent about it.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Daniel has a nickname, Papa. Riley calls me Grandma. Nothing special.”

Cherie sat back, holding her wineglass, swirling the contents. “Papa is probably the most common variation on Grandpa. It’s those double-repeat syllables that babies learn so much easier—mama, dada, papa. He was there every day with Riley. Aren’t you being overly sensitive?”

“Maybe.” Probably. “It’s just been a long, trying day dealing with everything.”

Cherie sipped her wine, then set down the glass gently. “How’s Ted taking it all?”

Maureen summed it up, adding, “He’s being amazingly patient.”

“Hmm.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve been wondering how he would handle it if you ever didn’t go along with what he wanted.”

“I don’t know what that means, Cherie.”

“Just what I said. You defer to him, that’s all. Today you didn’t. I’m glad he’s being patient.”

Even if Maureen had wanted to explore the point further, Daniel and Riley returned then.

“Grandma, that bathroom is crazy!”

Since Maureen was a regular customer at the restaurant, she knew what Riley had discovered. “How is it crazy?”

“There’s no reg’lar lights but there’s colors all over the walls and they…glow. What’s it called, Papa?”

“Day-Glo paint and black lights.”

“Black lights. Isn’t that funny? Papa says that’s what the hippers liked.”

“Hippies,” Cherie said. She touched her peace-symbol necklace. “I was a hippie.”

“You were?” His eyes went round. “Did you glow?”

Cherie laughed. “Oh, honey, did I ever. I glowed like a neon sign.”

“I’ll show you pictures,” Maureen said. “She was beautiful.”

“She’s still beautiful,” Daniel said, lifting his glass in a toast.

“Well. Flattery will get you everywhere.” Cherie clinked glasses with him, then Riley wanted to join in. After much toasting and clinking, their meals were brought and everyone dug in as if they hadn’t eaten in days.

After dinner they walked to Daniel’s apartment. Ty wasn’t there.

“This isn’t too bad,” Maureen said, looking around. Nothing was new but it wasn’t too cluttered or dirty.

“I decided to clean the place up a little before I went back to your house. It reminded me too much of dorm life.” Daniel led them into his bedroom. He turned to Maureen. “Any chance you’ve got an extra set of sheets you can loan me? I don’t think even bleach will help these.” He lifted the ratty quilt to unearth equally ratty sheets.

Maureen pictured his house in Seattle, a three-bedroom craftsman with wood-shingle siding on a quiet, tree-lined street, a far cry from this tiny, street-noisy place. She caught Cherie’s pointed look.