Mom thinks for a few moments. "Your father was always so busy with the restaurant. And that was okay with me."

"It was?" I say.

"Oh, yes. Don't get me wrong. I loved your father. I just didn't want him around the house all the time."

"Really?"

"Sure. I got to spend more time with you and Jeremy and not worry about making the dinner my husband wanted and having it on the table at a certain time. Remember our Sunday dinners? That was the only day of the week we all sat down together at the table. And that was fine with me."

"We would spend Sundays together," I say, remembering.

"Your father and I would spend Mondays together," Mom says. "While you and Jeremy were at school."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. All day." She wiggles her eyebrows at me.

"Enough," I say. "Yuck."

But if Dad was having s.e.xcapades with Mom, maybe he didn't need to look for outside entertainment. Maybe she is the B on the postcard.

"The issue with Sid is that he is retired and he hasn't found ways to occupy his time," Mom says. "He's been very dependent on me. I already have my own things that I love to do. So I told Sid all of this. Every last bit of it. And he agreed that he needs to fill his life with things other than me. He needs to be more independent. So, we'll keep dating and see what happens."

"And the ring?" I say.

"Sid said I could keep the ring."

"Okay," I say. "Let freedom ring."

What rings is the doorbell. "That's Maddie," I tell Mom. "I told her about yesterday's drama and she insisted on coming over when she was finished with work."

Wearing a black tank top and baggy white pants, Madeline says, "How is she?" when I open the door.

"She's fine." I reach for the pink Tiers box Madeline holds.

"No." Madeline swats at my hands. "This is for Bobbi."

"It's a cheesecake," Madeline tells Mom as she hands over the Tiers box. "I don't know how to make chicken soup. I thought this would be the next best thing."

"That's very sweet," Mom says. "Thank you."

I take the cake box to the kitchen and cut three slices. Plates in hand, I return to Mom's room. Madeline has wrapped her arms around my mother. Mom rubs Madeline's back. I stand in the doorway and watch, not wanting to interrupt. After a few moments, Madeline separates herself from Mom.

"Thanks," Madeline says. "I needed that."

Jobs Christopher von Hecht calls my cell. "Listen, boss girl. I know you are on holiday, but I have to tell you something serious."

"What?"

"I found a new job, so I'm officially giving you two weeks' notice."

"What? Why?"

"Don't be mad, okay? Business has been so slow. I hope you understand."

I do understand. It's pretty simple. He needs to make money. "Where are you going?" I ask.

"Habanero Grill," Christopher sighs.

"A chain?" I say. "Chrissie, I can get you a better job than that."

"You can?" he says.

"Listen, Brussels sprout. I opened five restaurants in Philadelphia last year. I'm sure one of them is looking to hire an experienced waiter. Give me a few hours."

Why should I call five different restaurants when I can go straight to Dine International? I call the office and the new receptionist tells me that Claire McKenzie is on vacation. Not wanting to keep Christopher von Hecht in limbo, I ask to speak with Peter Exter.

"h.e.l.lo, stranger," my former boss greets me.

I tell him the purpose for my call, and Peter tells me that Dine International is opening a new American restaurant in Philadelphia. If Christopher Von Hecht is as good as I say he is, Peter will hire him right now. "Consider it done," Peter says. "I don't suppose you want to come back to work for me."

"You're hiring?"

"Mimi, you never even asked me for your job back. You just blew out of town."

"Oh. That's true. But you had just hired Claire. It wouldn't be fair to fire her."

"I would have found something for you to do," Peter says. "You're too valuable a commodity, Mimi."

"Thank you," I say.

"In fact, we are looking for someone to headhunt chefs for us in Europe. We're opening restaurants in London and Florence, and another one in Paris. It's a month-long a.s.signment. Tempted?"

"Thank you, but no," I say. "I don't want to travel anymore. I want to stay close to my family."

"I'm going to start looking for an apartment," I tell Mom as we watch HGTV.

"Maybe you can get your old apartment back," Mom suggests.

"Not in Philadelphia. Here. Not in The Garden, but somewhere in South Jersey."

"Why?" Mom says.

"Why? Why else? To be near you. And the rest of the family."

"And the restaurant?"

"Yes," I say.

"By the way," Mom says. "I called the towns I know and I couldn't find a sh.o.r.e house for us to stay in during the last week of August. Maybe we could take a few day trips. Unless you still want to investigate Asbury Park?"

"No."

Mothers, Part Three We have to get through the farewell dinner for Phoebe and her Latin lover. "Do I have to go?" Mom says. "I'm feeling dizzy."

"Nice try," I tell her. "Get in the car."

Over dessert of pound cake and fruit, Jeremy says, "We have an announcement to make. Allison is pregnant."

"Mazel tov, mazel tov!" Phoebe claps her hands, then leans toward Allison and kisses both her cheeks. Mom rises, too, and hugs Jeremy. Phoebe continues to kiss Allison, not releasing her grip on her, so Mom leans forward and kisses Allison's head.

"Congratulations," Enrique says as he shakes Jeremy's hand and offers Allison a broad smile.

"How far along are you?" Mom asks.

"Six weeks," Allison says. "The doctor called this morning to confirm it. It's still early, but I wanted to tell everyone while Mom was here."

Getting to my feet, I hug Jeremy. "Congratulations, big daddy."

"Thanks." He returns my squeeze. "We have more news. We'll need another bedroom. So we're going to buy a new house."

Oy. More money.

I return to my seat while the conversation turns to the real estate market. In my seat, I turn to Sarah. "You've lived in this house all of your life. How do you feel about moving?"

Sarah shrugs. "It's what is best for my family."

I nod. We sit quietly for a few moments, watching the rest of the family. Sarah is so like Allison, keeping her feelings to herself. I ask, "What do you think about your mother being pregnant?"

Sarah answers, "I hope it's not twins."

"You be a good girl," Phoebe says as she kisses my cheeks. "You'll find a good man."

"Let's hope."

Mom and I drive home quietly. She doesn't share her thoughts about Allison's pregnancy. I don't share my thoughts about the restaurant. Jeremy needs money, even though he doesn't know I know. So, either I work ten times harder to make Cafe Louis profitable, or I sell the restaurant. What is best for the family?

The Language of Heaven Thunder wakes me. Opening my eyes, I see my niece standing by my bed. "Good morning, Aunt Mimi," she says.

"What are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

"I'm spending the day with Bubbie," Sarah says. "But it's about to rain and this bed is the best place to watch storms."

"Oh." My adrenaline ebbs as I make room for Sarah. She climbs onto my bed, sits on her knees, and folds her arms on the windowsill. Sarah puts her face against the closed window, her nose almost touching the pane. "I think storms are beautiful," Sarah says.

"The lightning and thunder don't scare you?" I ask.

"Oh, no. They're beautiful. I love when the thunder booms really loud."

Such an odd and beautiful child she is. "Why do you like thunder?"

Sarah inclines her head, watching the dark clouds gather and listening to rumbling thunder. "I pretend the thunder is Grandpa and Zadie talking to each other in heaven."

I ask, "What do Grandpa and Zadie talk about?"

"Lots of stuff."

"And you hear them? They speak real words? In English?"

Sarah smiles. "I think everyone speaks the same language in heaven. You can hear them, too. You just have to listen."

Thunder booms, lightning cracks. The storm arrives.

Deconstructing Mimi After three days of nursing Mom and her sore b.u.t.t, I drive to Cafe Louis not having made a decision about the restaurant's future. It's just that...

"What is going on?" I shout out the window as I park Sally.

"Demolition," a hard-hatted man tells me.

Debris stands in piles around Cafe Louis. Yellow trucks bearing red and purple SHRED logos stand guard while an enormous wrecking ball crashes into the remains of the shops that were once Cafe Louis's neighbors.

"You're p.i.s.sed off at me so you send in the wrecking crew?" I'm shouting at Aaron through my cell phone.

"First of all," Aaron says, "I'm not p.i.s.sed off at you. Second, the demolition was scheduled weeks ago."

"So this has nothing to do with me leaving you at the sh.o.r.e?"

"No," Aaron says in a calm voice. "You said that you had to work. Was that a lie?"