The Narrows

had started taking lessons the year before from a retired jazzman I had come across on a case. One night, when things were good between Eleanor and me, I had brought the instrument with me and played her a tune called "Lullaby." She had liked it.
    "Actually, I haven't been playing anyway."
    "How come?"
    I didn't want to tell her that my teacher had died and music had dropped out of my life for a while.
    "My teacher wanted me to switch from alto to tenor-as in ten or fifteen miles away from him."
    She smiled at the lame joke and we left it at that. I had followed her through the house and into the kitchen, where the table was actually a felt-covered poker table-with cereal milk stains on it thanks to Maddie. Eleanor had dealt six hands faceup for practice. She sat down and started gathering up the cards.
    "Don't let me stop you," I said. "I just came by to see if I could put Maddie to bed. Where is she?"
    "Marisol's giving her a bath. But I was counting on putting her to bed tonight. I've worked the last three nights."
    "Oh, well, that's fine. I'll just say hello then. And good-bye. I'm driving back tonight."
    "Then why don't you do it? I got a new book to read her. It's on the counter."
    "No, Eleanor, I want you to do it. I just want to see her because I don't know when I'll get back."
    "Are you still working a case?"
    "No, that all sort of ended up there today."
    "The TV news didn't have much on it when I watched. What is it?"
    "It's a long story."
    I didn't feel like telling it once again. I walked over to the counter to look at the book she had bought. It was called Billy's Big Day and its cover showed a monkey standing on the highest step at an Olympics-style award ceremony. The gold medal was being put around his neck. A lion had received the silver and an elephant the bronze.
    "Are you going back to join the department again?" I was about to open the book but I put it down and looked at Eleanor.
    "I'm still thinking about it but it's looking that way." She nodded as though it was a done deal. "Any further thoughts from you on it?" "No, Harry, I want you to do what you want." I wondered why it was that when people tell you what you want them to tell you, it always comes with suspicion and second-guessing attached. Did Eleanor really want me to do what I wanted to do? Or was her saying that a way of undermining the whole thing?
    Before I could say anything my daughter came into the kitchen and stood at attention. She wore blue-and-orange-striped pajamas and her dark hair was wet and slicked back on her head.
    "Presenting a little girl," she said. Eleanor and I both broke out the smiles and simultaneously offered our opened arms for hugs. Maddie went to her mother first and that was all right with me. But it felt a little like when you hold out your hand to someone to shake and they don't see it or just plain ignore it. I lowered my arms and after a few moments Eleanor saved me.
    "Go give Daddy a hug."
    Maddie came to me and I lifted her up into a hug. She was no more than forty pounds. It is an amazing thing to be able to hold everything that is important to you in one arm. She put her damp head against my chest and I didn't mind that she was getting my shirt wet. That was no problem at all.
    "How are you, baby?"
    "I'm fine. I drew your picture today."
    "You did? Can I see it?"
    "Put me down."
    I did as instructed and she ran off, out of the kitchen, her bare feet slapping on the stone tiles as she headed to the playroom. I looked at Eleanor and smiled. We both knew the secret. No matter what we had or didn't have for each other, we would always have Madeline and that might be enough.
    The running of tiny feet could be heard again and soon she was back in the kitchen, towing a piece of paper held high like a kite. I took it from her and studied it. It showed the figure of a man with a mustache and dark eyes. He had his hands out and in one hand was a gun. On the other side of the page was another figure. This one was drawn in reds and oranges and had eyebrows drawn in a severe black V to indicate he was a bad guy.
    I crouched down to my daughter's height to look at the drawing with her.
    "Is this me with the gun?"
    "Yes, because you were a policeman."
    I nodded. She had said it like pleaseman.
    "And who is this mean guy?"
    She pointed a tiny finger at the other figure on the drawing. "That is Mr. Demon."
    I smiled.
    "Who is Mr. Demon?"
    "He's a wrestler. Mommy says you wrestle with demons and he's the boss of all