Tony grilled tri-tip and sweet corn over wood in a big firepit, and veggie burgers on a gas grill. We had brought a tangy coleslaw, and others contributed food as well: slices of heirloom tomato drizzled in balsamic vinegar; peppery arugula salad with coins of bright white-and-pink radish; big wedges of dripping watermelon. As darkness fell, kids began to light sparklers that sizzled and spit. Through it all, I noticed Tony always kept an eye on Joan. He made her a special mojito with mint grown in his garden. He brought her a new napkin when she dropped hers on the ground. He served her slices of rare tri-tip first, with a flourish.

Tony was a white guy with salt-and-pepper hair in his late fifties or early sixties, probably younger than Joan by at least ten years. But I could tell she liked his attention. She let him wait on her in a way that showed she enjoyed it. I thought she might have taken extra care with her appearance tonight, too. She wore a new blouse in a bright gold-and-teal print, and she had put on dangling earrings that looked like beaten brass shields. But she was still wearing her wedding ring. I wasn’t sure what to think.

We walked home with Analemma afterward, and the road was so dark we had to light our way with a flashlight that Tony insisted we borrow. Every so often we heard the distant popping of fireworks. Some dogs couldn’t stand them, but Analemma didn’t even seem to notice. She pranced ahead of us happily, as if she were leading us home.

“That was a nice day, wasn’t it?” Joan said contentedly as we walked.

“Yeah.” I was a little surprised; I felt pretty good about it, too.

She linked her left arm through my right, drawing me closer. She smelled like woodsmoke; I probably smelled like it, too.

“Tomorrow morning Steph’s coming to do some gardening, but I’m going to Berkeley to see a friend,” Joan said. “I’ll leave her check in the kitchen. Can you give it to her?”

“Sure.” I felt a rush of excitement at the idea that I’d see Steph again—alone this time.

“We should have her over for lunch sometime. Ask her when she’s available.”

“Okay.” I wondered whether she could detect the sudden racing of my pulse.

“You know you can ask me anything,” she said quietly.

I tensed up and said, “I know.”

“I understand you’re not a little girl anymore, as much as I want to remember you as one.”

I felt immediately self-conscious, and I didn’t respond. I didn’t have to, because fortunately at that moment my phone dinged. I pulled it out of my pocket to read the text. “It’s from Tasha,” I explained.

Tasha wrote: Everybody says hi!!!!