I almost laughed.
“I’m not being difficult.”
“The house is freezing.”
“How cold?”
“I don’t know. Sixty? Maybe fifty-eight.”
I looked at Owen.
He was finishing his milkshake.
Lucy was coloring on a napkin.
I thought about the thirty-degree driveway where my mother had decided my children belonged.
Then I said:
“Have you checked the thermostat?”
“Yes.”
“Breaker?”
“Yes.”
“Pilot?”
“It’s an electronic ignition.”
“Right.”
Mom sighed.
“That’s why I told you to call your guy.”
I leaned back.
“Mom, I don’t have a guy.”
“You always have a guy.”
