Remember When

center stood wide open, and empty. The trio of African violets she'd rooted from leaves and babied into lush plants had been dumped out of their pots, and the soil scattered. Tables had been overturned, drawers emptied, and framed prints she'd arranged on the walls were tossed on the floor.
    For a moment she stood, frozen in the inertia of denial. Not possible. Not her house, not her things, not her world. She broke through it with a single thought.
    "Henry!"
    Terrified, she bolted for the kitchen, ignoring the debris of her possessions that littered the hall, the mess of glassware and staples that covered the kitchen floor.
    Tears of relief stung her eyes as she heard the frantic answering barks as she charged toward the mudroom door. The instant she flung open the door she was covered by trembling, frightened dog. She went down with him, her shoes skidding on spilled sugar, to clutch him against her as he struggled to crawl into her lap.
    They were all right, she told herself over the frantic pounding of her heart. That's what mattered most. They were okay.
    "They didn't hurt you. They didn't hurt you," she crooned to him while tears tracked down her cheeks, while she ran her hands over his fur to check for injuries. "Thank God they didn't hurt you."
    He whimpered, then bathed her face as they tried to calm each other down.
    "We have to call the police." Shivering herself, she pressed her face into his fur. "We're going to call the police, then see how bad it is."
    ***
    It was bad. In the few hours she'd been gone, someone had come into her home, stolen her property and left a manic rubble in his wake. Small treasures broken, valuables gone, her personal things touched and examined then taken or discarded. It bruised her heart, shattered her sense of safety.
    Then it just pissed her off.
    She'd worked her way up to anger before Vince arrived. She preferred anger. There was something powerful about the rage that was building inside her, something more useful than her initial shock and fear.
    "You're okay?" It was Vince's first question as he took her arms, gave them a quick, bolstering rub.
    "I'm not hurt, if that's what you mean. They were gone before I got home. Henry was in the mudroom. He couldn't get out, so they left him alone. Jenny. I left Jenny here, Vince. If she'd still been here when-"
    "She wasn't. She's fine. Let's deal with what is."
    "You're right. Okay, you're right." She drew a deep breath. "I got home about ten-thirty.
    Unlocked the front door, walked in, saw the living room." She gestured.
    "Door was locked?"
    "Yes."
    "Broken window here." He nodded to the front facing window. "Looks like that's how they got in. Got your stereo and components, I see."
    "The television in the media room upstairs, the little portable I used in the kitchen. Jewelry. I've just taken an overview, but it looks like they took electronics and small valuables. I've got a couple of good Deco bronzes, several other nice pieces, but they left those. Some of the jewelry they took is the real deal, some of it junk." She shrugged.
    "Cash?"
    "A couple hundred that I kept in my desk drawer. Oh, and the computer I used here at home."
    "Made a goddamn mess out of it, too. Who knew you'd be out tonight?"
    "Jenny, the man I met for drinks-we ended up having dinner, too. He's at the Wayfarer. Max Gannon."
    "Jenny said you just met him, in the shop."
    Heat tingled its way up her neck. "It was just a drink and a meal, Vince."
    "Just saying. We're going to go through everything. Bunch of cops tromping around in here, you might want to go to our place, stay the night."
    "No, but thanks. I'll stick."
    "Yeah. Jenny said you would." He gave her shoulder a pat with his big hand and walked to the door as he heard the radio car pull up. "We'll do what we do. You might want to start working up a list of what's missing."
    She spent the time in the sitting room upstairs with Henry curled tight at her feet. She wrote down what she'd already seen was missing, answered questions as Vince or one of the other cops stopped in. She wanted coffee, but since what she'd stocked was on her kitchen floor, she settled for tea. And drank a potful.
    She knew her feelings of violation, fear, anger were all classic reactions, just as the sheen of disbelief that kept layering over them. It wasn't that crime was nonexistent in the Gap. But this sort of break-in, the malicious destruction of it, certainly wasn't typical.
    And to Laine, it seemed very, very