68I found Marina loading the dishwasher.
I glanced at the window in the oven door. The interior lamp showed a rectangular white casserole dish centered on the rack.
Golden brown crumb topping was streaked with bubbling peach-colored juice.
“Cobbler,” Marina announced. “Tom like ice cream on top.”
“Thanks for making dinner and dessert. Tom’s been a big help. I want to keep him happy.”
“I like Tom happy, too.” Her eyes gleamed. “He want to sleep in my room. Okay with you?”
“Only if you leave him there by himself,” I said.
She frowned. “He happier if I by his side.”
“Not tonight. I need you on the upper level.”
“Why? Pat is leaving?”
“No, but he’ll be helping Tom for part of the night. I want you upstairs with me.”
She gave me a measuring look. “You sure this what Tom wants?”
“Wha
