Every morning after the kids are shuttled out the door and her husband leaves for work, Trish sits in a rocking chair by the window and knits a square for her TV watching blanket. Sometime she listens to the radio. Lately, she’s been relishing the silence and the freedom of her morning. The adjacent house sits empty. The nice couple with the yappy wire hair terrier who was so cute as a puppy will return around Memorial Day, continuing their nightly barbecues. Come summer the neighborhood will be blanketed with a smell of roasting meat that won’t quit until Labor Day. Further down the block lives the man the kids call Freddie, after Freddie Krueger. In truth he looks nothing like Freddie, though most mornings finds him sharpening his knives, suitable for flaying fish or flesh.