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She blinked at me. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You can do it. You’re going to do it.” I glanced up but didn’t see Edward yet. Good. “You are the grownup, Donna, and you are by God going to act like it.”

I could feel Peter watching us, could almost feel him storing it away for later playback. He would remember this little scene and he would think on it, you could feel it.

“Do you have children?” she asked, and I knew what was coming.

“No,” I said.

“Then what right do you have to tell me how to raise mine?” She was angry now, sitting up straighter, wiping at her face with short harsh movements.

Sitting up on the bumper, she was taller than I was kneeling. I looked up into her angry eyes and told the truth. “I was eight years old when my mother died, and my father couldn’t handle it. We got a phone call from a state trooper that told us she was dead. My father dropped the phone and started to wail, not cry, wail. He took me by the hand and walked the few blocks to my grandmother’s house, wailing, leading me by the hand. By the time we got to my grandmother’s we had a crowd of neighbors, all asking what was wrong, what was wrong. I was the one who turned to my neighbors and said, “My mommy’s dead.” My father was collapsed in the bosom of his family, and I was left standing alone, uncomforted, unheld, tears on my face, telling the neighbors what had happened.”

Donna stared at me and there was something very close to horror on her face. “I’m sorry,” she said in a voice that had grown soft and lost its anger.

“Don’t be sorry for me, Donna, but be a mother to your own daughter. Hold it together. She needs you to comfort her right now. Later when you’re alone, or with Ted, you can fall apart, but please, not in front of the kids. That goes for Peter, too.”

She glanced at him, standing there, watching us, and she flushed, embarrassed at last. She nodded her head too rapidly, then visibly straightened. You could actually see her gathering herself. She took my hands, squeezing them. “I am sorry for your loss, and I apologize for today. I’m not very good around violence. If it’s an accident, a cut, no matter the blood, I’m fine, honestly, but I just can’t abide violence.”

I drew my hands gently from hers. I wasn’t sure I believed her, but I said, “I’m glad to know that, Donna. I’ll go get . . . Ted and Becca.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

I stood, nodding. I walked across the gravel in the direction Edward had gone. I liked Donna less now, but I knew now that Edward had to get away from this family. Donna wasn’t good around violence. Jesus, if she only knew who, what, she’d taken to her bed. She’d have had hysterics for the rest of her life.

Edward had walked down the sidewalk to stand in front of one of the many small houses. They all had gardens in front, well tended, well planned. It reminded me of California where every inch of yard is used for something because land is at such a premium. Albuquerque didn’t look nearly as crowded and yet the yards were crowded.

Edward was still holding Becca, but she was looking at something that he was pointing at, and there was a smile on her face that showed from two houses away. A tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying eased from my back and shoulders. When she turned so that her face was full to me, I saw a sprig of lilac tucked into one of her braids. The pale lavender flower didn’t match the yellow ribbons and dress, but hey, it was cute as hell.

Her smile faltered around the edges when she saw me. There was a very good chance that I wouldn’t be one of Becca’s favorite people. I’d probably scared her. Oh, well.

Edward put her down, and they walked towards me. She was smiling up at him, swinging his arm a little. He smiled down at her, and it looked real. Even to me it looked real. You might have really believed he was Becca’s adored and adoring father. How the hell were we going to get him out of their lives without screwing Becca over? Peter would be pleased if Ted went poof, and Donna . . . She was a grownup. Becca wasn’t. Shit.

Edward smiled at me and said