That’s summer in Texas, I guess.

“I doubt the chefs here even need an oven,” I say. “They can just step outside.”

Everybody laughs. “You’re a funny one,” Dr. Hernandez says.

“Oh, believe me,” Eddie says. “She keeps us all smiling.”

It’s amazing how much lighter those words make me feel and how quickly it lifts me up, making people laugh. So easy and natural for me to fall into normal cheery-Olivia mode. I think about Ruth not wanting to come with us to this restaurant and wish Eddie’s words were true every time.

Most of the tables are empty, and there’s one old man in a cowboy hat at the bar. A girl about Ruth’s age, with earrings all up one ear, leads us to a booth at the front window. I watch cars driving by, people jogging and walking dogs, though I don’t know how they’re managing that in this heat, and listen to Ellie and Dr. Hernandez talk.

So Dr. Hernandez was Ellie’s therapist when she was young. That means Ellie went to the same kind of doctor as Ruth. I know it’s different for everybody, but I wonder if maybe that’s why Ellie’s good at talking to Ruth, reaching her without agitating her or being grating.

Our food is served and we dig in. It’s nice to have a cool drink. Maybe I don’t know exactly what happened with them in the past, but I do know that Dr. Hernandez has the tiniest hint of an accent and is fun to listen to. Her eyes get wide when she speaks and her eyebrows raise like she’s telling a vitally important story, even if it’s only about the time she got asked out by her AAA mechanic.

Ellie turns to Eddie. “Will you text Ruth and make sure she’s okay?”

“Already did,” Eddie says, holding his phone out. “She says she’s fine, just resting.”

I’ve already texted Ruth too. Texted her a picture of the dancing cartoon hamburger on the menu. She didn’t respond to my text.

“How…” Ellie starts. “How do you deal with it every day? That’s got to be impossibly hard.”

There’s a sudden tension in the air between us, like guitar strings pulled tight. We’re all still, even Dr. Hernandez. Only Eddie seems to know what to do, and he slides in close to his wife and puts an arm around her waist.

“Yes,” Dr. Hernandez says. “It is hard, especially when things don’t end as well as this.”

The guitar strings between us vibrate, like they’re playing a song. Ellie nods several times, her lips pressed tight. Her eyes glisten. Eddie strokes her hair.