“Well, I’d rather it were something like a testy heart than all the things it could be. I’ve always been just a bit ticked off at Cal for the abrupt way he left us, but all things considered, if I could just nod off in the garden, I would rather do that than be sick. I feel all right, you see. I’ve just been diet-restricted as all hell. Can’t eat anything truly enjoyable. However, besides eliminating strenuous exercise like skiing, my lifestyle is unchanged. I do watch cholesterol much better now. I thought I had watched it before, but now I watch. And I take long walks.”

“Is it bad?”

“Bad tickers are getting to be a regular thing, John,” she said philosophically. “They can check your cholesterol at the grocery store. Now that they know so much about hearts, seems no one just drops dead anymore—everyone is getting a bypass or something. The fact is, if I’m very conscientious I could live long enough to become a nuisance. On the other hand, I shouldn’t get hooked on any serial novels right now.”

“Jess!”

She laughed at him. A resounding, loud, hilarious laugh—typical. It made him flinch; he worried she might keel over. “You know, John, you could drop dead tomorrow, too. The only difference is that if I do, it won’t be completely unexpected. I want to get that girl home and straightened out. She needs a keeper, that one. Lord, raising her was a job for ten mothers. Come in and I’ll write you a check. You can have a glass of wine with the girls and me—it’s my medication.” For a moment he thought she had read his mind. The news that Leigh was coming had caused him to think he could use a glass—or ten. “It’s the only nice thing about a tricky heart—a glass in the afternoon, a glass in the evening.”

“I have to pass on the wine,” he said. “But I’ll take the check.”

He followed her up the stairs to the redwood deck surrounding her large home, then in the back door to the kitchen. There, as predicted, were the other women at the kitchen table. What they were doing today was unclear; nothing but writing paper and coffee cups covered the surface between them. They could be planning a cotillion or writing book reviews for the local paper. Once, when he’d seen them around a table with writing tablets and impetuously inquired about their current project, they had said they were writing their wills. He hadn’t asked since. “Hi, John,” he heard three more times.

“Will you promise to drop by when Leigh and the boys are here?”