We usually keep the windows open at night, and at dawn, on most days, we awaken to the birds singing in the magnolia tree that’s in the small backyard of our apartment. Strangely, all of the birds in our tree are mocking birds, and Maggie and I would sometimes lie in bed and play a game by naming them according to their individual song. There was this one bird we called “The Show Off” and another one we called “The Maestro” and so forth. So this morning I awoke to them both singing away and then, realizing I was in the bed in the nursery, it suddenly all came back to me as the events of the night before and “the healing” flooded into my mind.

Lying there in kind of a trance, I could hear Maggie in the kitchen making coffee. With the bakery below wafting the aroma of fresh baked goods through the floorboards and the bird’s serenade, I had to sit up and look around for a bit to make sure I wasn’t still dreaming.

Just as I was about to get up, Maggie appeared in the doorway with a tray and coffee and said, “Room service!”