“Great,” she said. “I’d love to. We didn’t have a real garden at home, you know, being in an apartment.”

He looked shyly at her. “It might be hard work, it’ll be hot.”

She frowned. “Are you suggesting I’m not strong enough for hard work?”

He grinned back. “Gotcha.”

She laughed, and flicked water at him. Then she turned and walked away, saying good night as she did so. It was only after Bob realized that (a) he was standing there grinning like an idiot and (b) he’d almost dried a hole in the second glass that he put it away and went to bed himself.

EIGHTEEN

The next day Laura spent the morning studying at the library and then met with a temping agency. The woman there alternated between encouragement and pessimism—I expect we can find something, although, you know, the market’s pretty tight right now, plus you can only do part time, but I’m sure it will be fine, probably—and by the time the meeting was over, Laura wasn’t entirely sure how she felt. She also didn’t know how much time she was going to have once grad school started up, so all in all she headed home feeling perplexed. At least she had plans for the evening, going to Nina Hill’s place for the trivia discussion. Maybe a nap first? She liked Nina a lot but she was . . . a lot.

She walked into the kitchen, and there, as if by magic, but really only by the United States Postal Service, she found a large cardboard box on the kitchen table. Maggie was sitting next to it, sipping a cup of tea.

“This came for you,” said Maggie, tapping the box. “I’ve exercised extreme self-control and only shaken it once or twice. I was hoping it was full of puppies.”

“Why would someone send me a box of puppies?” Laura tipped her head to one side. “Is it even legal to mail puppies? I hope not.”

Maggie shrugged. “No reason. I’m always hoping for puppies.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” said Laura. “My grandmother told me my mom sent me a box of clothes, and this is probably it.”

“Does she think you’ve been walking around in a feed sack since the fire?” Maggie shook back her bangles and charm bracelets. There were a lot of them, and while they were as heavy as shackles, Maggie used them more as percussion instruments. Attitude is everything.

“My mother despairs of me,” said Laura lightly.

“Oh,” said Maggie, “that’s unfortunate.” She looked with interest at the box, instead of asking the questions she wanted to. Timing is also important.