Seventy-five bucks for her car.

Even though it was fair, somehow it just didn’t seem right. She wouldn’t even see the money.

After writing out the checks for her bills, she sealed the envelopes and used the last of her stamps. She’d have to swing by the post office to get some more, and she made a notation on the pad by the phone before remembering that “swinging by” had taken on a whole new meaning. If it wasn’t so pathetic, she would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.

A bicycle. Lord have mercy.

Trying to look on the bright side, she told herself that at least she’d get in shape. Within a few months she might even be a little thankful for the extra fitness. “Look at those legs,” she imagined people saying, “why, they’re just like steel. However did you get them?”

“I ride my bike.”

This time she couldn’t help but giggle. She was twenty-nine years old and she’d be telling people about her bike. Lord have mercy.

Denise shook off the giggles, knowing they were simply a reaction to stress, and left the kitchen to check on Kyle. Sleeping soundly. After adjusting the covers and a quick kiss on his cheek, she headed outside and sat on the back porch, wondering yet again if she’d made the right decision to move here. Even though she knew that it was impossible, she found herself wishing she’d been able to stay in Atlanta. It would have been nice sometimes to have someone to talk to, someone she’d known for years. She supposed she could use the phone, but this month it wouldn’t be possible, and there was no way she was going to call collect. Even though her friends probably wouldn’t care, it wasn’t something she was comfortable doing.

Still, she wanted to talk to someone. But who?

With the exception of Rhonda at the diner (who was twenty and single)-and Judy McAden-Denise didn’t know anyone in town. It was one thing to lose her mother a few years back, it was a completely different situation to lose everyone she knew. Nor did it help to realize that it was her own fault. She’d chosen to move, she’d chosen to leave her job, she’d chosen to devote her life to her son. Living this way had a simplicity to it-as well as a necessity-but sometimes she couldn’t help thinking that the other parts of her life were slipping by without her even knowing it.

Her loneliness, though, couldn’t simply be blamed on the move. In retrospect, she knew that even while she was in Atlanta, things had begun to change. Most of her friends were married now, a few had kids of their own. Some had stayed single. None, however, had anything in common with her anymore. Her married friends enjoyed spending time with other married couples, her single friends enjoyed the same life they had in college. She didn’t fit into either world. Even those who had children-well, it was hard to hear how wonderful their kids were doing. And talking about Kyle? They were supportive, but they would never really understand what it was like.

Then, of course, there was the whole man thing. Brett-good old Brett-was the last man she’d dated, and in reality it hadn’t even been a date. A roll in the sack, perhaps, but not a date. What a roll, though, huh? Twenty minutes and boom-her whole life changed. What would her life be like now if it hadn’t happened? True, Kyle wouldn’t be here . . . but . . . But what? Maybe she’d be married, maybe she’d have a couple of kids, maybe she’d even have a house with a white picket fence around the yard. She’d drive a Volvo or minivan and spend every vacation at Disney World. It sounded good, it definitely sounded easier, but would her life be any better?

Kyle. Sweet Kyle. Simply thinking about him made her smile.

No, she decided, it wouldn’t be better. If there was one bright spot in her life, he was it. Funny how he could drive her crazy and still make her love him for it.

Sighing, Denise left the porch and walked to the bedroom. Undressing in the bathroom, she stood in front of the mirror. The bruises on her cheek were still visible, but only slightly. The gash on her forehead had been closed neatly with stitches, and though she would always have a scar, it was near the hairline and wouldn’t be too obvious.

Other than that, she was pleased with how she looked. Because money was always such a concern, she never kept cookies or chips in the house. And since Kyle didn’t eat meat, she seldom had that, either. She was thinner now than she was before Kyle had been born-hell, she was thinner than she was in college. Without her even trying, fifteen pounds had simply melted away. If she had the time, she’d write a book and title it Stress and Poverty: The Guaranteed Way to Lose Inches Fast! She’d probably sell a million copies and retire.

She giggled again. Yeah, right.

As Judy had mentioned in the hospital, Denise did resemble her mother. She had the same dark, wavy hair and hazel eyes, they were roughly the same height. Like her mother, she was aging well-a few crow’s-feet in the corners of her eyes, but otherwise smooth skin. All in all, she didn’t look too bad. In fact, she looked pretty good, if she did say so herself.

At least something was going right.

Deciding to end on that note, Denise put on a pair of pajamas, set the oscillating fan on low, and crawled under the sheets before turning out the lights. The whir and rattle was rhythmic, and she fell asleep within minutes.

With early morning sunlight slanting through the windows, Kyle padded through the bedroom and crawled into bed with Denise, ready to start the day. He whispered, “Wake up, Money, wake up,” and when she rolled over with a groan, he climbed over her and used his little fingers to try to lift her eyelids. Though he wasn’t successful, he thought it was hilarious, and his laugh was contagious. “Open your eyes, Money,” he kept saying, and despite the ungodly hour, she couldn’t help but laugh as well.

To make the morning even better, Judy called a little after nine to see if they were still on for their visit. After gabbing a little while-Judy would be coming over the following afternoon, hurray!-Denise hung up the phone, thinking about her mood from the night before and the difference a good night’s sleep could make.

She chalked it up to PMS.

A little later, after breakfast, Denise got the bikes ready. Kyle’s was ready to go; hers was draped with cobwebs she had to wipe off. The tires on both bikes, she noticed, were low but had enough air to get into town.

After she’d helped Kyle put on his helmet, they started toward town under a blue and cloudless sky, Kyle riding out in front. Last December she’d spent a day running through the apartment complex parking lot in Atlanta, holding on to his bicycle seat until he’d gotten the hang of it. It had taken him a few hours and half a dozen falls, but overall he had a natural instinct for it. Kyle had always had above average motor skills, a fact that always surprised the doctors when they tested him. He was, she’d come to learn, a child of many contradictions.

Of course, like any four-year-old, he wasn’t able to focus on much more than keeping his balance and trying to have fun. To him, riding his bike was an adventure (especially when Mom was doing it, too), and he rode with reckless abandon. Even though traffic was light, Denise found herself shouting instructions every few seconds.

“Stay close to Mommy. . . .”

“Stop!”

“Don’t go in the road. . . .”

“Stop!”

“Pull over, honey, a car’s coming. . . .”

“Stop!”

“Watch out for the hole. . . .”

“Stop!”

“Don’t go so fast. . . .”

“Stop!”

“Stop” was the only command he really understood, and whenever she said it, he’d hit the brakes, put his feet on the ground, then turn around with a big toothy grin, as if to say, This is so much fun. Why’re you so upset?

Denise was a nervous wreck by the time they reached the post office.