Pete Yinson glanced down at their muddy feet. “You’re worse than the dogs. I thought people outgrew wading with their shoes on by the time they were seven,” he said, smiling. They waited on the stoop while he went in to find pencil and paper. His house was very tiny and had small furniture to fit the small rooms.

His sister was Alice Yinson. An attorney, he explained. He jotted down Alice Yinson’s home and office numbers.

“And are the dogs really Janet, Darlene and Donna Lee?” asked Macey. “I never met dogs with names like that.”

“I never met a girl with a name like yours,” said Pete Yinson. “Pretty yuppie,” he teased, still smiling.

Austin found himself looking forward to being a grown-up and getting along with old guys like Pete Yinson and his dogs Janet, Darlene and Donna Lee. “Mr. Yinson,” he said, “would anybody else on the street remember the fire?”

“Are you kidding? People move in and out every fifteen minutes. You never get to know them. People don’t respect roots anymore. I’m the only native on the street.”

They shook hands. “Thank you, sir,” said Austin. “Sorry we trespassed.”

“You come again,” said Mr. Yinson. “I like people with roots.”

The creek was noticeably higher and harder to cross in the short time they’d been on the other side. They held hands to keep steady. When they came up onto the grass, Austin wanted to lie down and sun-dry, take off more than wet shoes. The riverbank tilted; lying down on the grass, they could be seen only by the mockingbirds singing so joyfully in the trees.

But Macey wanted to call Alice Yinson right away.

“I could drive us to New Canaan,” Austin offered.

But she was not interested in wasting that much time. Like Austin’s mother, she was headed in her direction, and he could tag along or get lost; it was up to him.

“Wade Sibley?” said Alice Yinson. “I taught in the junior high with him.”

“You did!” cried Macey. “What did you teach?”

“Home economics. Back then, every girl had to learn sewing and cooking and domestic skills. Naturally, later on I went back to school and took other degrees. I’ve been an attorney for twenty years.”

Macey talked on the wall phone while Aus listened in on the cordless. “How wonderful,” said Macey.

“And Mr. Sibley …”

“Taught science. Along with my first husband. His name was Adam Devers. I’ve had three marriages, took the man’s name for each, but now I’m using my maiden name again. If I get married a fourth time, I’ll keep Yinson.”

Austin hoped that neither of his parents was ever that casual about their marriage. He hoped they wanted one marriage and were at this instant putting it back together.

He knew they weren’t.

Macey nodded and smiled and encouraged, as if she and Alice Yinson were sitting across from each other in a restaurant.

She still got sparks for you, Texas.