felt for Brian paled beside the love she felt for her son. He gave back

without even knowing he was giving. It was simply there, a hug, a kiss,

or a smile. Always at the right time. He was the best and brightest

part of her life.

"Here now, go help your sister tidy up the bloicks."

"I can do it."

After setting Darren down, Bev smiled at Emma. "He has to learn

to pick up his own messes, Emma. However much you and I would like to

do for him always."

She watched them together, the delicate, fair-headed girl and the dark,

st.u.r.dy boy. Emma was a neat, well-mannered child who no longer hid in

closets. Brian had made a difference for her. And Bev hoped she

herself had had a hand in forming Emma into the bright, cheerful child

she was today. But it was Darren, she knew, who had truly tipped the

scales. In her devotion to him, Emma forgot to be frightened, she

forgot to be shy. In turn, Darren loved her completely.

Even as a baby, he had stopped crying more quickly if Emma soothed him.

Each day the bond between them only strengthened.

Bev had been pleased the day a few months before when Emma had begun to

call her Mum. It was a rare thing for her to look at Emma and think of

her as Jane's child now. She didn't, couldn't, feel for Emma the fierce

almost desperate love she felt for Darren, but the love she did feel was

warm and steady.

Because he liked the clattering they made, Darren dropped the blocks

back in their box. "D," he said, holding his favorite letter over the

opening. "Dog, drum, Darren!" He let it fly, satisfied when his letter

made the most noise. Certain he'd done his duty, he hopped on his red

and white rocking horse and headed west.

"We were going to play farm." Emma took the big Fisher-Price barn and

silo off the sh.e.l.l It only took the word "farm" to have Darren leaping

off his horse. He dragged off the top to shake the animals and

round-faced people out of the silo.

"Let's go, let's go," he chanted while his still clumsy fingers

struggled to set the white plastic fence pieces straight.

Emma steadied his hand before she glanced up at Bev. "Can you play,

too?"

She had a million things to do, Bev thought, with all the people Brian

had asked over that evening. In a few hours, the house would be full.

It always seemed to be full, as if Brian were afraid to spend a few

hours in his own company. What he was running from, she didn't know,

and doubted that he did.

When we get back to London, she thought. Everything would click into

place again when they got home.

She looked down at the children, her children. And laughed.

"I'd love to play."

An hour later Brian found them as the turkey rug which stood in for the

cornfield was plowed under by a fleet of Tonka trucks. Before he could

speak, Emma was scrambling up.

"Dad's home." She rushed forward, ending on a bound, sure that his arms

would be there to catch her.