“I know you said there were reasons you couldn’t be in the band, but it seems like if you like it that much, and the band wants you back . . .”

I saw her grip on the steering wheel tense, and then she deliberately let it go. “It’s not that simple. I have to think about whether it’s good for me and Lisa.”

“Shouldn’t she want you to do what makes you happy?”

Steph’s jaw clenched.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t be butting in.”

“She gets jealous,” Steph said unexpectedly.

“Of the band? Or Roxy?”

Steph pulled the truck forward to the menu, and through the speaker a slightly scratchy voice said, “Welcome to In-N-Out. Can I take your order?”

We both asked for the same thing: cheeseburgers animal style, with fries and Diet Cokes. I pulled my wallet from my purse and extracted a twenty-dollar bill, holding it out to her. After a second of hesitation, she took my money. I was faintly disappointed.

“I’ll get change,” she said, and pulled the truck forward again. We weren’t quite at the pickup window yet. “I understand why she’s jealous,” she continued. “It’s a little weird to be in a band—and it’s not like Madchen was well-known. We were barely anything, but people come to shows and look at you, and they have ideas about you, and they want things from you. It probably sucks to see that and be on the outside.”

I thought about my mother and that Boston Globe article my dad had kept. I had been too young to witness the way he reacted when he saw her onstage, but he never struck me as the jealous type. Had he felt like he was on the outside? I wondered if that was part of why they’d divorced.

Steph looked at me. “I didn’t mean to unload that on you.”

“No, I get it. I can see how it would be hard to deal with.”

Finally, we were at the pickup window, and Steph passed me the food to hold while she paid. The smell of french fries made my stomach growl. Then she handed me fifteen dollars in change and drove out of the drive-through lane.

“It’s just down here a little ways,” Steph said as she turned onto the street. We passed the road that led back under the overpass; we passed the entrance to a trailer park; and then suddenly on the left, water appeared, dotted with small grassy islands.

“What is this place?” I asked. “I’ve never been here.”

“I don’t know. I think it’s some kind of marshland. It connects to the bay. You can’t see it from here but over to the left is the ferry terminal at Larkspur.”