She was sitting on Dorset's porch with a basket of rolls and a little container of jam when he opened the door. Ivy had woken up early; she was having strange dreams, this week. It was as if, when she finally slept, she was let in on windows of her neighbor's lives — hopping around with them as they puttered through their home. Last night, it had been Dorset, towards the end of his patrol. She even felt his thumbs &mdash her thumbs, in the dream — strain when he handcuffed someone who was struggling against him. Eventually she was haunting someone else, but it was still strange.

So she got up early, went into town for the rolls and the fresh jam, and sat on Dorset's porch until he emerged. Sometimes their days off, or time off, were the same — she was hoping that today would be the same, because otherwise she was going to have to sit with her strange thoughts until she next saw him.

Finally the door opened. Ivy stood up with the basket in hand, an offering. "Were you up late last night?" she asked.