Bob and Laura passed the group, and Laura missed Asher’s answer. They went over to the first feeder, which was on the far side of the pool, and Laura watched Bob reach up easily to take the feeder out of the tree where it hung. Normally she was the one who reached for the high shelves, was called to fetch the rarely used glassware or unusual ingredient. The rest of her family was bemused by her height, a throwback to some earlier, more robust ancestor. Her mother was five four in heels—not that she wore heels—and her dad would only have hit six feet if he stood on a step stool.

Bob said, “Could you open this up and check it isn’t completely disgusting inside?” He went over to gather the others, each a blown-glass globe with flecks and streaks of color. Laura looked around for a hose, spotted one, and went to wash out the feeder. Soon he joined her, and together they cleaned the feeders, refilled them, and hung them back up.

They stood together, waiting to see if a bird would appear.

“I swear I see the same one every time,” said Bob, “but that’s probably not true.”

“It could be,” replied Laura. “They’re very territorial.” She turned her head at a whir, and spotted one. “Hey, that’s an Anna’s, they’re pretty much only found on this coast.” She pulled out her phone. “I have to show my dad . . .” She raised it to take a shot, but the bird immediately zoomed away. “Huh, I guess that one was shy.”

Bob was looking at her curiously. “You’re a bird nerd?”

She laughed and nodded. “Kind of. I mean, yes, of course, who doesn’t like birds? But actually my dad is a bona fide hummingbird expert. He’s written books on them.” The tiny bird reappeared, and she managed to take a quick photo. She paused, sending the text, then looked up at Bob. “Thanks for letting me help.”

He was surprised. “Of course, thanks for helping.”

She turned and went to join the others, asking if there was any sushi left or had they eaten every roll. Bob watched her go, coiling the hose and hanging it back up. Then he pondered the hummingbirds for a while, until he felt ready to look at Laura again.

SEVENTEEN

Much later that evening Laura was in her room, scrolling through her phone mindlessly, when she thought she heard whimpering from the garden. She paused, and listened carefully.

Yes. Definitely a dog complaining persistently about something.

She got up and went out to the kitchen. The French doors to the garden were closed, and framed in the lower right pane was Daisy’s face. If she’d had a wristwatch, she would have been tapping it.