"Anne, could you do me a massive favor?"

I look up from my cereal bowl, blinking blearily up at my sister, immaculate in her bathrobe and ponytail at seven in the morning.

"What's up?" Her smile's charming, but there's something coming at me.

"Charles has a lunch with some coworkers today, and I'm going as well, but we can't take Charlie. Do you mind watching him today?"

I put my spoon down. "For how long?"

"Well, the lunch is in New York, so just until, oh, nine tonight?"

"New York."

"Yeah."

"You're going to drive five hours for a company picnic, then drive five hours back?"

"That's right, Anne."

"So why can't you take Charlie to this?"

"I told you: it's a business lunch."

"Charles is taking you, and it's not exactly for business. You're barbequing with the others partners in the firm, right?"

"I'm sure it'll be something a little nicer than barbequing, Anne."

"And I'm just as sure that the other partners will be including their children, Mary. Hell, they'll probably parade them out front in their polos and Jimmy Choos—"

"Jimmy Choo doesn't make children's shoes—"

"Whatever. I've been watching Charlie for almost two weeks straight—"

"When you weren't hanging out with Lou and Hen, watching them slobber over Ahmir Wentworth like a pair of—"

"And I think it might be good if you spent some time with him for awhile—"

"Though I have to admit he's a lot better than that Chris Hayter. Pathetically bad match if you ask me—"

"Mary!"

"What?"

"I think you should take Charlie with you to New York. Give him some time to hang out with you and Charles. He misses the two of you, and I can feel he's getting really tired of having to keep off his ankle. Please, just—just take him with you."

"Anne. I have enough to handle right now as it is. I have to look perfect for this party, and we're in a financial situation right now which I'm sure Charles hasn't done anything about yet. Not that I begrudge his father his retirement money, but he has quite a bit of it that he's never going to spend because they can't travel. All in all, with everything else I have to think about, and needing to impress the other partners and their stupid wives, I can't worry about Charlie, too. Don't you see?" She smiles wheedlingly at me, and I can feel myself crumbling. For Charlie, it's either stay here and be bored or go to the barbeque and be in competition with his mother for the attention of the other adults. And it's not exactly like he can play with the kids at the moment.

Besides, I can see where this is going if I keep up my argument. Either way, I'm going to lose; it's just quicker to lose this way. And I don't lose my dignity in the bargain. I don't have the energy to fight with her.

When I've agreed and poured myself a second cup of coffee, Charles comes blustering in. He's all set for the day, sleeves rolled back to his upper forearm, khakis slung casually yet professionally around his waist. He's ready for the day. One look at Mary tells him she's not. They exchange a few words, and she exits in a huff to perfect her appearance for the partners and their stupid wives. Charles pulls out a chair and sits across from me, pouring himself coffee, too, careful not to get any on his crisp white shirt.

" 'Morning, Anne. Sleep well?" he smiles his school boy smile when I shake my head sleepily.

"Not enough," I say, "and yourself?"

"The same, I'm afraid. Did Mary ask you if—"

"Uh huh."

"And is it—"

"Uh huh."

"Great. That's great." He pretends to look at the back of the cereal box, solving the simple word puzzle splayed across cartoon marshmallow bats. "Anne—how are you doing?"

I hesitate, watching him. Then I smile a little. "I'm fine, Charles. Better now. Thanks for asking."

"No, seriously. I'm not interested in the answers you give Mary, if she ever thinks to ask. You're looking way too thin, and you seem sad, you hardly ever speak, and when you do it's monosyllabic at best. You're the person we all turn to for support, but if you need help, if you need someone to talk to—just know that I'm here for you." His hand comes down to cover mine. I look up at him in alarm. Sincere concern is written plainly across his face. "I'll always be here for you."

I pull my hand away as Mary enters the room, and I turn to look at Count Chocula as they make their leave. I get the feeling that Charles is watching at me, but I don't look up. I call out a cursory goodbye as they leave, and when the door is closed behind them, and after the car is out of the driveway, I lean back in my chair, my head hanging back, staring at the ceiling.

Why is this happening? As if things aren't fucked up enough without Charles coming on to me. As if I didn't have enough to deal with. Maybe I shouldn't have started gaining weight. Maybe that was what reminded him that he used to be attracted to me. Maybe it didn't mean what I think it means. Maybe it's friend to friend.

Maybe not.

God damn it. God damn it. God damn it. This is the last thing I need.

And what the hell is Mary doing abandoning Charlie like this? I'm not his nursemaid, I'm not his baby sitter. And I am not her wet nurse. I had this plan when I came here, this great master plan that I was going to sweep in and make everything better in the family. But I've screwed that up, and now if I leave, I get the feeling the whole dynamic will Jenga itself to the ground.

Not again. Not again. I'm not going to stay just because I feel guilty about what might happen if I leave. And with Ahmir here, the sooner I leave, the better. I've been way too distracted by him to notice anything else, which is probably where my major screw up came from. Distracted by Ahmir Wentworth. Well, it wouldn't be the first time.

I should leave.

But then I think of Charlie, alone in this house, or packed off to some ambivalent day care with too much money and not enough talent. He already has no friends his age, I'd rather he have at least one of any age.

No, I can't leave. Not yet.

I close my hands, bringing my head back in line with my body, rubbing the heels of my hands into my eyes.

This is getting real old.

Charlie is bored. With a capital B. We've been watching Blue's Clues for an hour, a place we've disintegrated to after the Great Card House Disaster and the epic Parcheesi Meltdown of '07. The whole day has been a disaster. Mary gave me strict instructions to not let him run around, but I wouldn't have listened if he hadn't been limping around all day. Apparantly his sprained ankle is more serious than I thought two weeks ago. Of course, it probably doesn't help that he's been doing his best to break both his ankles ever since he fell.

So now we're stuck indoors on an ugly, rainy day, watching Joe open his mail. I'm sitting on the floor, leaning back against the couch, and Charlie is taking the opportunity to get out his frustration by kneeing me periodically in the back of the head. I'm about ready to turn around and throttle him when I hear the doorbell ring.

I get up and walk to the door, battling down my annoyance with the whole day. When the door opens, a rush of chilly, wet air sweeps in the door, and in front of it stands Ahmir.

I gape at him. He gapes at me. I'm the first to speak, though, which I guess is supposed to be a victory.

"Hi."

Brilliantly done. Try again.

"Do you need something?"

Not good, you idiot. Now you sound like an uber bitch.

No time to try again, though. He shoves his hands into his pockets and says, "Yeah, I'm actually looking for Lou and Hen. Mrs Musgrove said they'd be here."

Confused, I frown, then step by and let him inside. His jacket is wet, and I offer to take it automatically, and just as automatically he hands it to me. "They're not here right now. They were planning on stopping by in a little, though. I think they've gone to the mall for awhile. And the weather's probably not helping."

"Oh." I've just hung up his jacket, but now it seems more than obvious that he'd rather put it back on and wait outside in the rain for the girls.

There's a little silence that seems to stretch into an eternity. I have absolutely no idea of what to say to him. I can't be nice to him, I can't be snappish. I can't explain anything.

So instead, I say, "You can wait here if you want. They shouldn't be long." I'm suddenly very conscious of my pj boxers and tank top. I turn and walk into the living room to cover my blush. Charlie is systematically shredding an entire roll of paper towels.

"Charlie! Stop it!" I take it away from him, giving him a look. There are pieces of towel all over the place, and I get down on my hands and knees to pick them up. I'm distractedly berating Charlie for wasting the earth's resources, when I hear, "Here, let me help you."

I whip my head over my shoulder to see Ahmir down on the floor with me, picking up the little piece of paper with me. I sit back on my heels, and diffidently hold out my hand to him. He drops what he's collected into my palm. Our hands don't touch.

"Thanks." I place his small pile with the one I've already made on coffee table. I'm unsure of where to go now. Should I wait for him to get up before I move? Should I get up now, and not send the message that I want to spend any extended time within a one-mile radius of him? I go to smooth down my pants, which is my nervous habit, when I realize that I don't actually have long pants on, and that that motion would end up with my rubbing my upper thighs. I quickly abort that mission.

"How's he doing?" Ahmir's indicating Charlie, who's now flipping through channels sullenly, turning up the volume to a near-deafening experience.

I roll my eyes, " Bored. Sulky." I find an excuse to get up when Charlie flings the remote across the room. I retrieve the remote, locate the batteries, which have fallen out and scattered, and click the TV off.

"Anne! I was watching that!"

I cross my arms over my chest and stare him down. "Really? Because it looked more like you were abusing the environment and your own personal belongings to me."

"I'm boooooored! You don't let me have any fun!"

"Umm, false, sonny jim. You don't let you have any fun. Your ankle would be fine now if you didn't feel like you needed to run marathons every day just to prove you can, which, by the way, you can't. Then you ripped the cards in half and flung the Parcheesi dice behind the radiator, so we can't play any games. Harry Potter bores you, which is weird, because you've been begging me to read to you for days, and now you've almost broken the remote. No more TV for you." I put the remote on top of the entertainment cabinet, propping my hands on my hips and watching his face melt.

"Noooo! I want to watch it!!! I'm sorry, I won't do it again."

"Sorry, too late."

"Anne. I promise. I'll pinkie swear. Just let me watch it!"

"Nope, sorry. If you're going to treat your belongings like that, then no." I feel like a bitch, but he needs it. He needs to be punished if he's ever going to learn anything about boundaries. I feel like a double bitch because Ahmir's watching me discipline an injured three-year-old. Charlie opens his mouth wide to retort, the shadow of future meltdown tears in his face, when the doorbell rings.

"Oh for the love—what now?" I grumble, going to the door again. This time when I pull it open, I find Chris Hayter on the front step, shaking water out of his hair.

I freeze. Ahmir's here for the girls, and Chris is here for Hen. This could be very, very bad.

"Chris, hi."

Hi seems to be the word of the day.

"Hi. I'm looking for Hen. Her mom said she might be here." He looks a little upset, and I can guess that Hen hasn't been answering her phone. Jeez, Hen. Way to be.

"She's actually not. She and Lou are on a retail-therapy deal today. But they should be here soon. Do—" I almost stop myself from inviting him in, but decide that would be rude, "do you want to come in and wait for her?" I step out of the way and he enters. We do the same coat dance Ahmir and I did only minutes ago, and I lead him into the living room, where Charlie is poised to spring on the remote.

"Up-up-up, get back on that couch, mister," I say, pointing my finger accusingly at the kid. He reaches out to take the remote anyway, then sees my face. He snatches his hand back, but props his hands on his hips like my mirror image.

"Chris, I believe you've met Ahmir Wentworth?" I say, not taking my eyes off my charge, wishing that I could make a more strategic introduction. "He's waiting for Lou. I don't want to see you disobey me again, do you understand?" I direct at Charlie. "You're being punished for a reason."

"For a stupid reason."

"Maybe. But that's my business. And your mom's not going to be happy if she comes home to discover the whole house smashed up because you're bored."

"Then find something for me to do, stupid!"

"Hey," Chris breaks in, "listen to your aunt, bud." I look over at them, standing within six feet of each other, watching this episode with interest. I look quickly away from Ahmir's dark eyes. I wonder briefly if he's taking this as further evidence of my heartlessness.

"No thanks, bud," Charlie snarks, sounding a lot like Mary did when she was younger.

"Hey, that's enough, you. If you don't want a time-out, you'd better stop insulting people. It's no one else's fault that you don't want to do anything."

"I do want to do something! I want to go outside, but you won't let me out!"

"Only because I don't want you to join the dinosaurs and unicorns!"

"What?"

"Trust me, Charlie," says Ahmir, sitting down on the couch and stretching out, "you don't want to be outside right now."

"How would you know?" Charlie says petulantly. I'm about to reprimand him when Ahmir follows through with, " 'Cause I've played whole soccer games when the weather was like this. It's no fun. I remember, there was this one time in Spain when it was pouring so much, I couldn't see in front of my face, like Harry couldn't in The Prisoner of Azkaban, do you remember that? Well, it was crazy, and of course we didn't have that spell that repels water—"

"Impervius—" I put in.

"—So it was almost impossible to see. And of course it was Spain, and calling a match because of the weather is like a cardinal sin, so we kept playing…" He trails off, looking away from the rapt three-year-old. There is a silence.

"Then what?" Charlie demands, his eyes wide with excitement.

"What? Oh, you're still interested in this story? I thought you just wanted to go outside and play."

I'm grinning. I can't help it. Ahmir has Charlie eating out of his hand and loving it. He was always really good with kids. Charlie flings himself down none too gently next to Ahmir on the couch, and again urges Ahmir on to finish the story. I duck my head to hide my smile, but I catch a glimpse of Ahmir looking at me, so I turn to the window and look out to hide it. It's the first time I've smiled this much in a long time.

Chris has sat down in the armchair, and is apparently relaxed, though I don't know what will happen when Hen walks through the door. He deserves better than this, I think. He seems like he would be good for Hen, no matter what Mary has to say about mechanics and their ineligibility for the Musgrove sisters.

Ahmir finished his story, then jumps immediately into another one, this time including Chris in the conversation. It's definitely a guy sort of conversation, and they both get into it, which makes me smile again, leaning on the window sill. They're just getting to the part about how cool Hot Wheels used to be when they were kids when the door flies open and Hen and Lou get blown into the house, carrying shopping bags and a soaking umbrella. All three boys look up, distracted, and if Hen feels any surprise about Chris's being here, she doesn't show it. Instead, she greets him warmly and shyly, throwing only a cursory glance at Ahmir. I think this reassures Chris, because he moves over in his chair to make room for her.

"Hey Anne, sorry we're later than we said," gushes Lou, stripping off her wet hoodie to reveal a wet white t-shirt that I hope to God isn't intentional. "We got carried away at the mall. And we got some stuff for you, too, but if you don't like it, it's no big deal, you can come with us next time, too." She barely stops for breath.

This is the Lou I know, the one who gets excited and talks so fast she trips over her own words and is barely understandable. This is the real Lou, not the one from two nights ago, who sold her own sister downriver for a guy who doesn't even like her the way she likes him.

Because it's obvious to me that she's infatuated. And while he enjoys the attention, enjoys her company, and is obviously fond of her, I don't see the same feelings in him that I do in her.

At least, I hope I don't.

I reach out to take the bag Lou is holding out to me, and Lou sits down on the other side of Charlie, hugging him and asking about his day. I walk around the back of the couch on the pretense of going into the kitchen, but I stop to pick up the ripped up paper towel off the coffee table, which puts me in just the right position to whisper something to Ahmir.

"Thank you."

I don't look him in the eye, but his head whips around, and I can feel he's studying me. Steady on, old girl. Don't crack. I turn my back and walk into the kitchen, and sit for a moment, collecting my thoughts and smiling at the rain like an idiot.