Naturally, Jack is with us for dinner. We’ve decided to purge the fridge by eating whatever friends brought that is still fresh, and the extra mouth helps. Naturally, he hangs around afterward. Naturally, he walks Joy and me back to his house when the others begin to yawn. Naturally, we feel like a family of three.

It would be cruel, if it weren’t so nice. Same with our lovemaking that night. Though I sense a desperation in his stamina, he doesn’t ask if I’ll stay.

Joy does. By Friday morning, she is mentioning it more and more. We’re having a late breakfast at Sunny Side Up—Margo, the boys, and me. Joy is serving, but each time she stops at our table, she ups the ante. If she isn’t sneaking extra donut holes to her cousins, she’s telling them how awesome the town beach is or how cool it would be if all of them had red BAY BLUFF hoodies—and, Mom, would that be the craziest photo ev-ver? Finally, I wander into the kitchen to see how Anne is doing and casually raise the issue. When she lights up at the prospect of having Joy stay on, I’m sunk.

I can’t stay, myself. Aside from the fact that two people have cleared their Saturdays to assist me, I owe it to this particular broker.

She’s my top referral source, I explain when Jack oh-so-tactfully asks if I’ve made a decision. I don’t want to lose her.

Say it’s a family emergency.

She’s a businesswoman. She wouldn’t understand.

Try her.

I don’t reply other than to say, Taking the kids into Waverley. Anything special we should see?

Wilcox Park. And bookstore.

Though the bookstore is new since I left, I remember the park. It proves to be an amazing photo trove for both statues and kids, and the bookstore—well, Joy and I are likely in higher heaven than Margo’s crew, but we know how to wreak the most damage in the shortest time. We are at the checkout counter with our arms full, when Jack texts.

Will Joy stay with me?

Margo wants her with her.

Until when?

Next week.

You’ll come back for her?

Yes.

And stay a while?

Depends on work.

Stay a while.

I need time.

I’ve given you time.

Time is not a day or two or three.

Neither is love. It’s forever.

I let this text go, too. For one thing, when it arrives, my sisters and I are in the office of Dad’s lawyer. The will is a formality, but we figure we ought to hear it while the three of us are here.

For another, I don’t know what to say. He’s right. And yes, I love him. But the logistics of making it work are daunting.