And so they came. We even invited over some of the other neighbors, the ones who’d stood out on the sidewalk the morning everything happened. We thought they might like to get to know what we were like when there weren’t so many emergency vehicles around. We finally met the people directly next door, in the house between ours and Trixie’s—the Petersons—a couple who worked as control room technicians for a Christian television network. I so wanted to tell them what their other neighbor did for a living, but held my tongue.

We didn’t all sit around the same table. It was informal. You grabbed a drink, scooped out a heap of lasagna and some salad on a plate, and ate it wherever you wanted. In the kitchen, in front of the TV, whatever.

“You’re back to work?” I heard Trixie ask Sarah from across the kitchen.

She nodded. “I took a week, went back. But Zack and I, we’re thinking maybe of taking a vacation.”

I stopped chewing so I could hear more.

“Maybe a cottage, maybe even a week in Paris.”

“That would be fabulous,” Trixie said. It sure would, I thought.

Earl came up to me, kept me from hearing anything else. There was a bit of tomato sauce on the cigarette he had between his lips. “So you’re sure you kept me out of it?”

“So far,” I said. “What if I have to tell at some point?”

Earl shrugged. “Thing is, I’m thinking of moving on. Let the Asians get somebody else to run the house. I don’t own it. I can walk away. Chances are, by the time you have to tell all, I won’t be around.”

I smiled. All I could think to say was “Yeah.”

Angie strolled by, rubbed her hand on my shoulder. I’d noticed both the kids were more physical lately. A hug here, a pat on the back there. I touched her hair as she passed me.

Paul, his plate heaped with lasagna and two rolls, came around the corner.

“Man of the hour,” Earl said.

Paul grinned. “For once, I didn’t get reamed out about leaving my backpack at the top of the stairs.”

Earl blew out some smoke, shoved a piece of bread into his mouth.

“You still going to help me with the yard?” Paul asked. “I want to put in some rosebushes, maybe.”

“I don’t know, sport,” Earl said. “I don’t think I’m the kind of guy your dad wants you to associate with.” I had, once the dust settled, told the kids how Earl made his living.

“Jeez, Dad, they’re going to legalize the stuff any day now.”

I felt awkward. “I think Earl’s thinking of moving on, anyway. Maybe I’ll have to learn a little about yard work myself. Or you can teach me, and I’ll just push the wheelbarrow around.”