"Here," Tony said, "let me see that." Andrew handed over the engine and picked up another paper-wrapped package. Karen sat down on the arm of the couch.

"I don't understand this," she muttered, shaking her head. The whole thing made her feel edgy, even angry. She didn't like mysteries, especially those that involved her child. "Who would do this? Who would do such a thing? Where did this come from?"

"It's an old one," Tony said, squinting thoughtfully at the underside of the locomotive. "I wonder if it runs."

"An old electric train?" Karen said on a rising note of disbelief. And then, because it seemed so crazy, so implausible, so unbelievable, she threw up her hands and began to laugh.

"Oh, cool!" Andrew exclaimed. "Hey, look at this."

In a moment he had the whole train unpacked and lined up on the living-room rug, the engine and five cars: a coal tender, a flatcar, a boxcar, a cattle car, and, of course, a caboose. The paint was faded and completely gone in spots, with patches of rust showing through, but Andrew didn't seem to notice. He was busy examining each car, exclaiming with delight and enthusiasm over each and every detail-doors that opened, wheels that turned, removable side racks, and on the front of the locomotive, a tiny silver bell.

"Look, Tony… "

"Hmm?" Tony glanced up from the control box he'd been examining, then leaned over to see what wonders Andrew had discovered now.

The two heads came together, bending low over the train… two heads with dark, wavy hair, a little too long at the back of the neck, brushing collars and the tops of ears. And for a moment, just a moment, the picture froze in Karen's mind, as if someone had snapped a photograph. She heard-felt?-a click, felt things shift inside her; emotion caught at her breath and rushed stinging to her eyes and nose.

Hay fever, she thought in sudden panic, and rose from the arm of the couch to declare brightly, "Andrew, it's way past your dinnertime. You must be starving."

"Yeah… " Andrew said absently, frowning with the concentration required to fit two slightly bent pieces of track together. Then he looked up, his face alight with the infusion of a new idea. "Hey, can Tony stay for dinner, Mom?"

"Oh-" said Karen and Tony at the same time, and then stopped.

"You can stay," said Andrew, both assuring and imploring. "My mom's a good cook. Do you like grilled cheese?"

"Yeah, sure-with ketchup." Shining with amusement, Tony's eyes met Karen's over the top of her son's head.

"Of course," she heard herself say. "You're welcome to stay."

There was a pause, a moment of silence that seemed much longer than it was. Then Tony cleared his throat and said, "All right, sure. Thanks very much."

"Well," Karen said, "all right, then."

As she made her way to the kitchen on legs that weren't quite steady, she heard Andrew say, "Ketchup? On grilled cheese? That's gross!"

Chapter Three

When Karen came back, Tony was on his hands and knees on the carpet, helping Andrew lay track. There was enough of it to make a figure eight that stretched half the width of the living room, from the bay window that looked out over the street all the way to the front of the couch. They'd even had to move the furniture a little to make room for it.

The boy turned as his mother approached, looking like someone who'd just discovered birthday presents. "Hey, Mom-look, we can put our Christmas tree right there, in the middle of that loop over there by the window, so everybody can see the lights. And then the train can go around the tree-won't that be neat? We're getting a big tree this year," he confided to Tony. "A real big one, tall as the ceiling. Right, Mom?"

Karen glanced upward. Tony could see her calculating the height of the Victorian ceiling, the probable cost of a twelve-foot tree, and the logistics involved in getting such a tree up the stairs and into the apartment. Then she uttered the age-old maternal cop-out, "We'll see," as she placed a tray on the floor beside the train track.

On the tray, Tony observed, there were two plates made out of plastic decorated with cartoon characters, two plastic glasses in bright primary colors, two neatly folded paper napkins and two small plastic spoons. On each of the plates was a grilled cheese sandwich nicely browned, a little pile of carrot sticks, and a tiny plastic cup of applesauce. The glasses were filled with milk.

"There," she said, plunking down a bottle of ketchup like an exclamation point. She had her lashes lowered, trying to shield the laughter in her eyes from him, but parted lips and a rosy blush betrayed her. "Now, is there anything else I can get for you?"

Though he was shaking inside with his own laughter, Tony managed to keep his face and voice absolutely deadpan. "No thanks, this is great." Karen's eyes flew open, then widened at the unmistakable challenge in his when he added softly, "If I think of anything, I'll let you know."

Oblivious to any adult undercurrents, Andrew was already tucking into his sandwich, taking bites out of the middle, the way Tony himself had done when he was a kid. The boy did stop chewing, though, to watch Tony pour ketchup on his plate, dip a corner of his sandwich into it and take a bite.

"Is that good?" he inquired, looking skeptical.

Tony offered the ketchup bottle. "Why don't you try it?"

Andrew shrugged. Tony poured him a small dollop. Andrew dipped, took a wary and tentative bite, chewed judiciously and finally conceded, "Not bad." Tony just grinned.

Karen had moved away from them, following the train track. Though he wasn't looking at her, Tony could tell she was nervous again. It had seemed as if she'd gotten over it while she was in the kitchen, but it was back now, once more confirming his suspicions that he was the cause of it. He decided he liked the fact that he made her nervous. Eventually, of course, he'd want her to feel comfortable with him, but right now that fidgety self-consciousness was telling him what he wanted to know, which was that she was aware of him in all the right ways.

"Does it work?" she asked, bending down to give the locomotive an experimental push, rolling it a little way along the track.

She caught Tony with his mouth full, so all he could do was shrug. Andrew, whose mouth was also full, said, "It's going to. Tony says he can fix it-right, Tony?"

For some reason, instead of answering with the confidence he felt, Tony glanced over at Karen. He found her studying him in a way that made him feel uncomfortable; all the nervousness was gone now, her eyes quiet and watchful, full of appeal and an unspoken warning. So he found himself hedging his bet. "Well, I don't know, kid. I said I'd try."

There was a little silence, and then Karen said meaningfully, "Andrew, do you have homework this evening?" It was a tone even Tony recognized.

Andrew groaned. "Spelling. Mom-"

"Better finish eating and get started on it," his mother gently but firmly interrupted. "The train will still be here tomorrow."

Tony, who knew a hint when he heard one, polished off the last of his applesauce and stood up, taking his plate with him. "I gotta go anyway, kid. We'll work oh this some other time."

"Tomorrow? Can you come over tomorrow night? Please? Mom, can he?"

They both looked at Tony. He shrugged in what he hoped was an offhand way and muttered, "It's all right with me."

"Mom? If I promise to do my homework first?"

"Well… " Tony could see the ominous "We'll see" hovering on the tip of her tongue, but when she opened her mouth, the words that came out instead were, "All right. If you do your homework first. Now, scoot-and take your dishes to the kitchen!"

Obviously satisfied with the terms, Andrew "scooted."

As soon as her son was out of earshot, Karen lifted her head and drilled Tony with a look that reminded him of the one she'd given him that morning when she'd finally accepted the loan of his car.

"Is it true?" she demanded without beating around the bush. "Can you fix that train?"

Tony shrugged. "I think so, yeah."

Her eyes clung to his, searching, searching- It gave him a strange feeling, as if he needed to take a deep breath but couldn't.

Finally, in a voice tight with controlled emotion, she said, "Please, don't tell him that unless you're sure. Don't promise something you can't deliver. I don't want him-"

"Lady," Tony said softly, "I don't make promises I don't mean to keep."

He saw a flicker of something in those transparent eyes of hers, something he couldn't quite name. And once again, although he wasn't touching her this time, he felt the struggle as she fought him and the easing when she let go.

"So," he said, "do you want me to give it a shot or not? It's your call."

She closed her eyes, let out a breath and nodded. "Yes… thank you. It's very nice of you. Andrew will be so-"

Nice. That damn gratitude again. Impatiently shaking it off, Tony said, "Tomorrow, then? About the same time?"

"Yes. Yes, that will be fine."

"Fine, I'll see you then." He was so distracted that he was out the door before he remembered he still had her car keys. And vice versa. He turned back with a smile that felt trampled. "Oops," he muttered as he handed them to her, "almost forgot."

"Oh-wait a minute, I have your keys right here…" Just like that, she was nervous again, like a bird in the presence of a cat. She flitted away for a minute, came back with her purse, fumbled in it for the keys and gave them to him. "Thank you so much-it was really nice of you to do that. And, uh… " She took a deep breath. "Do you have my bill?"