And then I started to laugh, a real one, a big tearful helpless laugh that rolled up out of the very bottom of me and would not stop, all the terror of the morning converting itself, all at once, into pure relief.

Zachary crossed the room and wrapped his arms around his mother, pulling her into a warm hug, and over his shoulder she gave me a watery, hopeful smile.

“The banana bread,” she sniffled, wiping her cheek.

“Downstairs.

I baked it with the R-07 starter.

As a thank-you.

For everything you two did for us.” I stood up, and I picked her dreadful, wonderful, incriminating notebook up off the floor, and I walked over and tucked it gently into her handbag where it belonged.

“You are coming back this Sunday,” I told her.