“I want to read a book where there’s a woman doing something exciting with her life. No kids, for God’s sakes. No husband. That would ruin the whole book for me. I do not want to read about what I’m already living. My husband has gas right now. We’re in a tent. Do you know what it’s like to sleep with a gassy husband and six kids in a tent? I’m miserable. I hate being in a sleeping bag. It makes me feel sweaty and trapped. We’re here for seven days because my husband wanted the kids to experience the outdoors. I’m experiencing hell. How would you like to change a kid’s diaper in a tent in the middle of the night with a flashlight in your mouth? It’s a mess. It’s unsanitary. It’s disgusting.

“I want to read about a woman who’s traveling and working a cool job and has lovers. A lot of lovers. She has to have high heels and she can take men down and out when they irritate her. I’m feeling vengeful. I want a kick-ass woman. For God’s sakes, no camping or any outdoorsy crap. Do you have a book like that?”

“I do.” I led her over to the series I knew she would love. “Here. Sit down and give me your phone.”

She handed me her phone. I leaned against my yellow rose wallpaper and called her husband and introduced myself. “Hey, so everything is fine, but your wife is having car trouble. . . . I don’t know, a clanking sound . . . and I’m taking her to the auto shop here on the island that I go to. It’s going to be about a four-hour wait because Sherman has three cars ahead of hers. Yeah. Sorry about that. Oh, no, no! No! You don’t need to get a taxi to come get her. Not at all. She’s talking to the mechanic and asked me to call you.”

Her mouth hung open.

“I bought you four hours of time, girlfriend. Get reading, and I’ll bring you some chai tea latte and a slice of toffee crunch cake with chocolate icing.”

She was so grateful she teared up, the poor thing.

* * *

I checked that night for a letter from Betsy.

She had written right back, minutes after I’d written to her.

Dear Evie,

I write this with tears. I am so grateful to you for writing to me, as is Johnny. He, too, is in tears. How about if we come to you? We can come at any time. We can come tomorrow, but perhaps that’s too soon? If you are free this weekend, we would be happy to see you.

Love, your mother, Betsy, and your father, Johnny.

Dear Betsy and Johnny,