Laurence was going to say something else, but Isobel came home. She was soaked, because it was raining and the experimental self-configuring umbrella had gotten stuck in a nonoptimal shape, judging from the complainy servo noises it was making and the fact that the left side of Isobel’s cardigan was drenched while the right side was totally dry. She no longer had the long brown braids she’d sported when he’d first met her as a child and instead wore her graying hair in a bob.

“Oh dear,” Laurence said. “Lord Umber let you down.” This nickname had not caught on with anybody else yet, but he kept trying.

Isobel just snorted and threw Lord Umber at the kitchen sink, where he could drain. Lord Umber groaned and attempted to transform into a shape that would protect the sink from any indoor precipitation. He got stuck again, making loud whining noises.

“Not cool.” Isobel grimaced. “Not cool at all. A regular umbrella would have been way better. Oh, hello.” She had gotten enough rain out of her eyes to see the unfamiliar young woman seated on the couch. “Nice to meet you. I’m Isobel.”

Patricia said her name and they shook hands, then Isobel ran off to get out of her half-wet clothes. When she came back, she had a snifter of brandy. She sat on the sofa next to Patricia and started making low-maintenance small talk about all the places around the world that would kill for some of this rain.

“So I think I heard about you,” Isobel told Patricia. “You go back almost as far with Laurence as I do. He seems to collect people for life.” She glanced at Laurence, who squirmed, as he sensed he was supposed to.

They were pretty high up in the hills—despite its name, most of Noe Valley was a steep hillside. The living room had picture windows facing over the downward slope of garden out front and the tops of trees farther out. Potrero Hill answered the hill they were on, with its own trees and split-level houses. Their front room had high ceilings, and then a spiral staircase led up to the upper level containing Isobel’s bedroom, bathroom, and study, with a balcony overlooking the living room. Laurence’s in-law bedroom was down a few steps, over on the other side of the kitchen, with a view of the tiny backyard.

The three of them ordered burritos, and judged that the rain had stopped long enough to risk trudging down the hill to pick them up. The evening had turned warm, despite the massive puddles at every street corner and the clouds on the skyline. Laurence walked between Isobel and Patricia, and was conscious of being hemmed in by women. Especially with them talking past him.

“How did you end up having Laurence as a housemate?” Patricia asked Isobel.