“Oh, Daisy!” said Laura apologetically. She opened the door and Daisy trundled over the stoop, not pausing to say thanks or anything, beetling through the kitchen toward the hall, where she ran into the feet of Bob, who had rounded the corner.

“I thought I heard you,” he said to her, then looked up and smiled at Laura. “Thanks for letting her in.”

“I think I could hear her more clearly from my room,” replied Laura. “I don’t know how long she was out there.”

“Too long, apparently,” said Bob as Daisy pushed past him and headed down the hall. After a moment they both heard the thumps and claw rattles that meant she was hopping up the stairs. Bob smiled. “And now she’s punishing me by spending the night with Polly.”

Laura smiled and stretched, looking at the wall clock. It was earlier than she’d thought, a little after nine.

Bob looked at her. “Wanna shoot some hoops?”

Laura thought about it, then nodded. “I’m getting tired, but sure, why not?”

“Great,” said Bob, gesturing for her to precede him through the door. “Maybe I have a chance then.”

“I said I was tired,” said Laura, “not too tired to win.”

Bob laughed and led the way around the side of the house. There, behind the gate that could be seen from the street, was the carport area. The covered driveway made a perfect court for the hoop on the side of the house.

“What’s good about this hoop,” said Bob, scouting around for a ball under the various pots and hedges, “is that it’s my room behind it, so hitting the wall doesn’t bother anyone but me.”

Laura looked up at a window above. “And whose room is that?”

“Upstairs bathroom,” replied Bob. “Maggie put the hoop up when her kids were teenagers, and gave the location a lot of thought.” He found a ball and bounced it a few times to test it. “She’s no dummy, that one.”

Laura shook her head. “She’s really nice, I like her a lot.”

“Me too,” said Bob, stretching his shoulders and lofting the ball into the hoop. “One to me.”

Laura was already moving, catching the ball as it fell and scoring easily, all in one movement. “And one to me,” she said, catching and bouncing the ball, spinning around and evading Bob’s attempted interception. Another throw. “That’s two.”

Bob shouldered her out of the way and got the ball this time, then stopped. “Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to knock you.”

“Oh, please,” said Laura, snatching the ball and dodging away from him, pushing him aside and making another basket. “Three to me. You’re being polite to make up for your poor defensive skills.”

“I see,” said Bob, giving her a more serious shove and stealing the ball as it came down. “Fine, gloves off.”