The Boys are Back in Town

In her Navy-blue silk pajamas that her husband said made her look like a “fashion-ninja,” Megan locked the front door — part of the pre-going-to-bed ritual at the Harris home. Next, she walked into the kitchen to set up the automatic coffee-maker for the morning.

First, fill the glass carafe with six cups of water, and pour it into the machine’s reservoir. Then count out five spoonfuls of ground roast from the glass jar into the coffee-maker’s filter.

Megan accidentally knocked the third spoonful of grounds against the machine, spilling the fine brown grains on the counter.

“Bother,” she whispered, annoyed, then suddenly caught her breath as a tidal wave of grief suddenly, unexpectedly, welled up from some dark cavern within her, triggered somehow by the minor misstep. “No,” she said grimly, her teeth clenched and eyes squinting with effort as she choked back the tears.