The small door to the firehouse opened, a refined older woman stepping inside with two pieces of luggage. She rolled the Pullman to a safe spot, and then headed to the coat rack with the smaller case. She hung up her wool coat and head scarf, revealing a narrow tweed skirt and silver-shot ash- blonde hair. Picking up her suitcase, she went upstairs.

She looked at the four-poster; her hand still on the doorknob to what had been the guestroom. She set the suitcase down quietly, and cursorily checked the closet and drawers. Finished, she stood there.

"Mom." Egon entered the room, his words and steps equally clipped. He glanced around the trim room.

"When would you have said something?" Miriam walked over to her son, looking up as she fussed over microns of lint. "At least say something now."

"I'm sure you've already surmised the main points."

"My son, the romantic. Important as closet space is, it's not everything. Which is fortunate, as it's always finite." She smiled as her son tested words only to keep them in his mouth. "Just a matter of moves. While you find your tongue, I'm going to my club. You know..."

Egon looked at his mother warily.

"At least he is a doctor."

Egon hugged his mom as he chuckled. "You don't mind?"

"My club has very nice rooms. Without four chaperones, or an air raid siren. You're the only one that can live your life." She stepped away, picking up her bag.

Miriam wasn't surprised when Peter took the suitcase as she neared the second floor. "I suppose I'm gaining a son. Though, I've felt that way about you for a while. Mazal Tov." She kissed him on the cheek, reclaiming her case. "Dinner tomorrow."

She was part way down the stairs as she heard the clang of the spiral stairs. Downstairs was populated by the very diligent other three. "Janine, would you call me a cab?" She deftly fended off Winston and Ray's ride offers, chatting with them as she waited for her taxi. Each took one of her bags out when the car arrived.

So much for grandchildren.

Fin