Brownie Kefauver wakes up earlier. At least he did on Wednesday morning when his frantic pounding sent me toddling down the stairs in my fuzzy slippers and Ed’s plaid flannel bathrobe. I was yawning when I unlocked the door, and my mouth stayed open when I saw who was waiting on the other side.“Well…hmmm…” Having just dispensed with the vocabulary I feel most comfortable with before seven A.M., I opened the door wider and silently ushered him in.By the time he sidled through the doorway, my brain was slowly cranking up. “Mr. Mayor.” I don’t think I’d ever called him that before. Maybe it was left over from an old episode of Spin City.“Mrs. Wilcox, I need help.”I nodded, because nodding is tough to screw up. I held a finger high, wordlessly asking him to wait, and went to the bottom of the stairs. “Ed.” Since that emerged as a croak, I tried again. “Ed!”Ed came down to the landing. Somehow he’d had the presence of mind to throw on sweat pants and a T-shirt.
