It was not that I minded cooking, or even that I minded her hangin' around; I just really needed Peter that day."I should make fuckin' peanut butter s...ndwiches," I muttered loud enough for him to hear.He got the message. "Be right back, babe." He kissed her forehead and followed me into the kitchen. "Do we have a problem?" Yeah!" I snapped back. "Is she ever going home?" Maybe not. So what?"My stress level was really pushed. I took a deep breath and flexed every muscle. It didn't actually relax. What the hell, I thought. I'll go down and keep the ghosts company. I took my CD player and the same disc Sarah and I danced to and set it up in the ballroom down at the Canal Street property. That was damned depressing, being up here all alone. I took a kitchen chair out onto the front porch and put my feet up on the railing. I sat there listening to the music coming down the stairs and through the door I had left open. It was loud enough to reach the street.A late middle-aged couple came. More

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