Louisa’s mother was close behind her husband. “Kathy Brannigan,” she said, extending her hand. Her hair was short and feathered with gray, her face was friendly. She was wearing gray University of Maryland sweats and red high-top basketball shoes. “You’ll have to excuse the way I look,” she said. “I just got back from the library.”

Louisa shook her head. “June Cleaver never dressed like that.”

“Who?”

“June Cleaver. Beaver’s mother.”

Kathy Brannigan gave her daughter a wan smile. “When you were five and Susan Fielding’s mother knitted a ski hat, I took up knitting. When you were seven and Carolyn Chenko’s mother made homemade bread, I gave baking bread a shot. I decorated cakes better than Amy Butcher’s mother, went on more field trips than Jennifer O’Neil’s mother, and baked better chocolate chip cookies than any mother in the history of the world. I draw the line at dressing like June Cleaver.”

“Mom’s gone back to college,” Louisa explained to Pete. “She’s a sophomore.”

“I missed it the first time around,” Kathy said. “I was busy doing the mother thing.”

Pete handed over his jacket and checked the hearth for a sleeping dog. He wasn’t disappointed. The furniture was dark wood and freshly polished. The couch was overstuffed and homey. The house smelled like woodsmoke and apple pie. He wouldn’t have believed any of this if he hadn’t seen it firsthand, he thought.

Louisa’s mother tapped Pete on the arm. “Are you all right? Your eyes look a little glazed.”

“It’s the pie fumes,” he said.

She led him into the living room and seated him in a wingback. “Don’t get too choked up over it. It’s one of those frozen ones that you just put in the oven and bake.”

He didn’t care. A pie was a pie.

Mike brought him a beer and set a basket of chips at his elbow. “I hear you’re one of those Hollywood types.”

“I write screenplays.”

“You know James Garner?”

“Uh, no.”

Louisa caught a glimpse of the dining room table. It was set for five. She looked at her mother and the question silently passed between them.

“Grandma Brannigan,” Louisa’s mother said. “She’s visiting for a few days.”

“Oh boy.”

“I heard that,” Grandma Brannigan called from the kitchen. “You always did have a smart mouth.”

Everyone in the living room exchanged looks of suffering.

“She’s really very sweet,” Louisa’s mother whispered.

“I heard that too,” Grandma Brannigan yelled. “And God’s gonna get you for lying, Katherine.”

She shuffled into the living room. She was a forbidding chunk of a woman with a square Irish face and a square Irish body. She had an apron over her gray wool skirt and white blouse, and she held a wooden spoon in her hand as if it were a weapon. “I’m not sweet at all,” she said to Pete. “Who are you?”

He rose and offered his hand. “Pete Streeter. I’m Louisa’s friend.”

She took his hand and squinted at him. “You look like a womanizer.”

He turned to Louisa. “Help.”

“Are you crazy?” Louisa said. “I can barely hold my own with her. Don’t look for help here.”

“So,” Grandma Brannigan said, “are you sleeping with my granddaughter?”

“Uh, well…”

Everyone sat up a little straighter and leaned forward ever so slightly, waiting for his reply.

He eyeballed the spoon in her hand. “You gonna hit me with that if I say yes?”

“I might hit you with it, anyway, just on general principle.”

“Well hell,” Pete said, “then I might as well deserve it.”

Louisa was on her feet, pulling him into the dining room. “Time to eat.”

Pete smiled lazily. “Thought you weren’t coming to my rescue?”

“You were going to hang me out to dry!”

He smiled and shrugged, and Louisa kicked him hard in the ankle.

He squelched a shriek of pain into a grunt.

“I get my violent nature from Grandma Brannigan,” Louisa said.

“Maybe I’ll take you home to Hellertown for Easter. You’ll fit right in. You can sucker punch my sister-in-law for first dibs on the potato salad.”

“Gee, I’m really looking forward to it.”

Pete slung an arm around her and hugged her to him. “I bet you got smacked a lot with that wooden spoon.”

“Not once. She’s all bristly on the outside and soft as marshmallow on the inside.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say about a person,” her grandmother said. “And it’s a bald-faced lie. I’m hard as nails on the inside. Don’t you believe a word she tells you,” she said to Pete. “It’s from the Krueger side of the family.”

She slid a glance at Louisa’s mother and lowered her voice. “The Kruegers always had a time with the truth, if you know what I mean.”

He could hear Louisa’s mother sigh behind him, and it sent a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. He liked this family. Really liked them. They were a little looney and a little exasperated with one another. They were his kind of people.

“Cripes,” Louisa’s father said. “Lay off the Kruegers, will you, Ma?”

“Everybody knows…”

Louisa’s mother brought a platter of fried chicken to the table.

“Look at this,” Grandma Brannigan said, “she had this delivered. Can you imagine? A dinner party that comes from a cardboard bucket. Biscuits, coleslaw, everything.”

“I have an exam on Monday,” Louisa’s mother said. “I didn’t have time to cook.”

“You could have asked me,” Grandma said. “I would have made a roast.”

“I asked you. You said we should order chicken.”

“Lies. All lies.”

Everyone sighed together.

Pete loved it. It was just as he’d always imagined. He took a piece of chicken and two biscuits and wondered if it was too late to get adopted.

Louisa picked at her skirt in the dark car, on the way home. “Sorry I kicked you so hard. I got carried away.”

“It wasn’t that hard. It just caught me by surprise. You can make up for it when we get home.”

“You have something specific in mind?”

“Did I ever tell you I have a video camera?”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“Oh dear.”

On Sunday it rained and Louisa felt caged. She paced in Pete’s apartment while he typed at the computer. Kurt had been over earlier with tapes from Maislin’s home phone. Maislin had called Bucky and given him a date. Tuesday.

She cracked her knuckles and cleared her throat. She was nervous. They didn’t have enough information. If more information wasn’t forthcoming over the phone lines by the next afternoon, it was going to be up to her to get it. She splayed her hands on the cool windowpane and stared out at the wet road. She was in over her head, and there was no turning back.

Pete saw the apprehension in the set of her shoulders. Finally, she was scared. Good. Fear would make her careful. He looked at the printed words on the screen and then at the woman huddled at the window. He had hours more work, but he couldn’t concentrate. He swore to himself and saved his file.

“You got a raincoat?” he called.

“What’d you have in mind?”

He took her hand and pulled her from the window. “The zoo.”

They walked the distance. They wore slickers and rain hats and were dripping wet and half frozen by the time they got to the entrance. They pressed on, through the big iron gates, up the wide cement pathway. They headed for the elephant trail.

They didn’t talk. They barely looked at the habitats. They kept their heads down against the rain and the wind until they reached the cavernous building that housed the giraffes and hippos. They blew through the doors and stopped short, almost knocked over by the steamy heat and rich scent of animal hide and dung. They shook off the rain and stared at each other, with purple lips and chattering teeth.

“I love Washington weather,” Pete said. “It makes you so miserable, you forget all your other problems.”

Louisa nodded and stomped her feet, trying to get some feeling back. “Puts things in perspective.” She looked up at him, a little shocked. “Do you have problems?”

He blinked once, very slowly. “You. You’re my problem.”

It wasn’t a surprise. She’d seen him trying to sandwich his work into days that were spent babysitting her. And she knew there was more. He was undoubtedly caught in the same emotional turmoil she’d been fighting. There was an incredibly strong attraction between them that had no basis in good sense.

“Hmm,” she said, because she didn’t have a decent answer.

They watched the giraffe eat, watched the elephants get hosed down. They stared at the hippos half submerged in tepid water. Then they put their hats on, zipped their slickers, and went back outside. They ran most of the way home, splashing through puddles in their haste, soaking their jeans from the knees down.

They were breathless when they reached home. They stripped at the top of the stairs, fell into Pete’s bed, and made love like there was no tomorrow. When they were done, they sat at the kitchen table and ate hot dogs and baked beans and a half gallon of coffee ice cream.

“So, you think I’m a problem, huh?” Louisa asked.

He knew she’d get back to it. “You’re a problem with no apparent solution. No matter what I do about you, it’s wrong.”

She could read between the lines. She felt the same way. That didn’t mean she liked it. Being a problem wasn’t exactly flattering. It was one thing for him to be a problem. That was understandable. He was far from perfect. She, on the other hand, was much closer. Yeah, right. She did some mental eye rolling, and thought the ugly truth was they probably deserved each other.

She felt the nagging crankiness beginning to return, and she pushed it away with a change of topic. She moved the conversation to the one area they had in common-the pig.

“There’s something I don’t understand about this pig thing,” she said. “What happened to the first pig? We know it got sick and wandered away. We know Maislin still has the jewelry. We know they didn’t want you asking questions. So, what happened to the pig?”