I See a Small Digit, 1 to 10 . . . a Thumb!

"Can we call her?" Ogilvie asks.

"She'll be here any minute," Jenny says.

Arlene Solomon arrives, a formidable woman who looks understandably surprised to find herself grilled by a stranger who says he is conversing with her pre-verbal grandson.

"I'm a little overwhelmed," she says, taking a seat. "Who are you?"

When Ogilvie is finished with the backstory, he asks about the stove next door. Rainen keeps "showing" it to him. Is there something wrong with the burners?

"Nothing wrong with the burners," she says.

"Was the door not closing properly?" Ogilvie presses on.

The door is fine, says Arlene, trying to be helpful. But she can't imagine how Rainen would have any idea what her oven looks like -- because he's never seen it.

"Kitchens and bathrooms are dangerous places, and I habitually close the bathroom door and I have a barrier to keep Rainen out of the kitchen," she says. Ogilvie starts to look a little deflated. Apparently he's never encountered the most safety-conscious of all God's creatures, the Jewish grandmother.

The phone rings, a neighbor stops by and Rainen hurts his finger on a door, precipitating a solid minute of loud crying. Ogilvie sits on the sofa, silent and pensive.

"I don't like waving the white flag," he murmurs after a minute.

"I'm so sorry," says Jenny.