Randall Poston swirled his glass, watching the shards of ice melt into a swirl of scotch. He turned off the radio. The living room was as quiet as the hum of car tires on wet pavement twelve stories below. Somewhere between “Hey, Jude” and “Piano Man,” the little girl fell asleep, a little bundle under the covers of her king-size bed. Fortunoff's Lucite watch glowed red at 11:37. Should he have called the child's mother? The thought made him reach for the receiver with his fingers and bring it to his ear. Moments later, unused, it slid smoothly onto the base. Kimberly Addison slept peacefully. The grip of his over-indulged stomach had eased, even in his incapable bands. Randall looked at the bottle of thick pink liquid sitting on the coffee table, remembering the aches that caused her so much pain and caused her stumbling run to the drug store. A few hours ago, both Pepto Bismol and a blue-eyed five-year-old had joined his family. His fingers had wrapped themselves around the medicine just as they had wrapped themselves around the handle of a battered suitcase, pushed towards him that morning, along with a frantic jumble of words from Nancy Addison."...and it will only be one day or two It's not really a problem if her grandfather wasn't so sick, I would take her with me... but, with my mother and her arthritis... and Kimberly... well, she wouldn't understand that her grandfather was. in bed and everything else short notice, I can't leave her with anyone else, and since you're at home all day anyway, as far as school goes she has to be there by eight forty-five but she absolutely won't eat the carrots.." Randall reme...... middle of paper...... nhattan travel guide, how about dinner, say in two hours? Nothing special. Spaghetti and a bottle of wine." "No carrots, please," Kimberly interrupted. "I agree, dwarf," Randall added. "I hate carrots, too." "But Mom, you know what? Mr. Postman doesn't hate Cheerios anymore." Hand in hand, mother and daughter left for their apartment, Kimberley clutching Samantha and Oliver under her arm. Randall stood in the open doorway. "I'll bring her things later, Nancy . See you at six." As she began to close the door, Kimberly called out, "Mr. Postman, wait!" She ran toward him, wide-eyed and serious, a miniature replica of her mother. Randall fell to her knees. "What's the matter, dwarf? Do you need another Oreo?" She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. He barely heard her whispered words." I love you, Mr.... Mr. Randy."