Bob was kneeling at the far end of the vegetable garden, completing his survey of the survivors. “I’ll grow her some more,” he said casually. “Take them in and put them in water before it’s too late. I’ll be in shortly, I need to finish staking these guys.”

Polly came back for the roses, and Laura helped her. Then she stayed with Bob, saying, “I’ll help you, then we can go in together.”

Bob sat back on his heels and looked up at her, squinting into the sun. She moved, casting his face in shadow. “Scared of the new girl?” he said, smiling.

Laura nodded. “Is that dumb?”

He turned back to the plants, shaking his head. “Nope, she hasn’t said a word to me and I’m already terrified.” He staked the remaining unsupported tomatoes efficiently, searching the ground for the twist ties he’d put somewhere. They were green to blend in with the plants, but that also made them hard to find.

Laura spotted them and bent to pick them up, handing them to him one at a time. She giggled again. “Me too. Why is that?”

He shrugged, reaching out his hand for the next twist tie, which she slapped into his palm like a surgical nurse. “Beats me. Her mom is the least scary person I’ve ever met.” He looked up at the sky. “It’s going to start getting dark soon. Shall we go in?” He stood and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Do you think we’re still getting burgers?”

Laura nodded. “I think Polly was pretty determined.” She paused. “I don’t suppose there’s another game on?”

Bob shook his head. “Not tonight, but we can always watch an old classic.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well,” he said, “there’s this thing called the Internet . . . ?”

Laura put on a puzzled face. “It sounds familiar . . . I can’t place it right now . . .”

“Well,” said Bob innocently, “thanks to the magic of the Internet, we could watch the ’81 World Series.”

Laura narrowed her eyes at him; she was painfully aware the Dodgers had won that one. She said, “Or ’77 or ’78?” The Yankees had taken both.

They started walking toward the house. “How about this,” said Bob. “We’ll toss a coin, and the winner picks the game.”

They climbed the steps to the patio and approached the kitchen door. “I like it,” said Laura, pleased by this idea. “Then the other person can pick the next one.”

“Deal,” said Bob. “We can watch a new game every night.”

“A new old game,” corrected Laura. “And why stop at baseball? We can do Lakers-Knicks as well.” She stepped back to let him go through the door. “The 1970 playoffs were fantastic.”

Bob gestured for her to precede him. “Not for us,” he said mildly.