Angie gave a short nod and scooted out of the kitchen. Bette grabbed her keys, phone, and purse, and hurried out the door. The foot traffic wasn’t too bad, but it was already nearly dark. She needed to hurry up if she was going to get back before Tina got home. She bought a rotisserie chicken and was double-timing it back to the house. She was nearly home when a woman and her daughter caught Bette’s eye. The woman was standing at the corner, shaking a cup at passers-by, while her daughter played with a pink toy car. Bette had an eerie feeling looking at them. Not that seeing panhandlers was anything new in New York, but it was different for her neighborhood. The woman’s eyes met Bette’s and she shook the cup wordlessly as Bette came closer. Bette looked away quickly and swept past her without breaking stride. She didn’t want to stop, nonetheless she felt a check of guilt that blossomed into sadness as she hurried up the steps of her townhouse, out of the winter’s cold and wind that had turned bitter. She locked the door behind her and re-armed the security system, then took off her coat and hung it up, and set her purse and keys on the foyer table. She carried the bag toward the kitchen, stopping past the media room where Angie was sprawled out in front of the TV, swinging her foot and looking from the 50-inch set mounted to the wall, back to her iPad.

“I’m back,” Bette said.

“Hi.” Angelica smiled for a second, then turned her attention back to her iPad.

“Got the chicken.”

“Okay, mom.”

Bette stood for a moment longer in the doorway and studied her daughter – totally at ease, enjoying expensive gadgets, warm… and here was Bette, whose biggest immediate problem had been a burnt dinner. The image of the woman on the street panhandling while her daughter, oblivious, played with a broken toy hit Bette again. She felt horrible.

She went into the kitchen and stuck the chicken in the oven to keep warm until Tina got home. She started setting the table, and then sat down, lost in thought.