I unfolded it and left it to air. That's what my mother always did. Another memory. Even more of my life was being pieced together by my much-abused b...ain. I had a vivid memory of Stefan being sick on the landing. Strange memory. Another of all the children in our bed with us on Christmas morning; it brought a tear to my eye. The house was working its magic. I even remembered we got milk from a milkman, and resolved to engage his services, if indeed there still was one.Yes, I belonged in this. Still K, but she'd obviously been working herself over duringmy nap. She looked a little bit softer, somehow, and just a tad older.I'd placed her in her late thirties, and now she looked about a decadeolder. The years had been kind, though, with just a touch of grey in herhair. She swapped the severe secret agent threads for something that, forwant of a better description, screamed 'soccer mom'."What's with the getup, K?"She smiled, and even that gesture somehow seemed friendlier, if. More

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