When she got downstairs, it was nearly nine. Lila was already there, sitting at the kitchen table across from Frank, each of them reading a section of the paper and holding it up like a barrier. Lila’s rolling suitcase and purse the size of a saddlebag sat on the floor by the back door. In the month since Emily had last seen her, her mother had dyed her hair red and cut it short and spiky. As she’d told Emily countless times, the problem with getting older was that women over sixty were treated as if they were invisible. At sixty-five, between the hair, a short silk caftan in swirling shades of pink and purple, and the layers of bangle bracelets that jangled whenever she gestured, Lila showed the world just how determined she was not to disappear. She also seemed impervious to the heat and humidity.

“You made it,” Emily said, giving her mother an air kiss. “How was traffic?”

“I left at six.” Lila got up and poured Emily a cup of coffee.

“And?” Emily took the cup and sipped. Weak. She could tell Lila had made it. Frank made coffee so strong you’d think a spoon could stand in it.

“Just the usual congestion, crossing the bridge. Would you believe, people actually commute from the Cape? Then a mess up here at the merge.”

Which meant—Emily glanced at the kitchen clock—Lila had probably been here for at least an hour. Alone. With Frank.

“Your car’s back,” Frank said, putting down the paper and rising to his feet.

“Your car?” Lila said.

Emily and Lila followed Frank out to the curb where her car was parked. Emily walked all the way around it. The rear taillight had been replaced, the dent in the back erased, the spill washed away. Good as new. You’d have to get out a magnifying glass to see—

“Oh dear,” Lila said. “What happened?”

“Where?” Frank said.

“There,” Lila said, bracelets jingling as she pointed a lacquered nail at the back of the car. Spot-on. She looked at Emily over the top of her rhinestone-rimmed glasses. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” She ran her hand over the offending area. “There’s a dimple. And the paint’s thicker here.” She backed away, squinting. “Plus, one taillight’s a lot cleaner than the other.” She looked at Emily. “Might not be as noticeable if you got your car washed occasionally, dear.”

Emily exchanged eye rolls with Frank. “A few dents add to the charm of an old car, don’t you think?” she said, looking pointedly at her mother’s ancient Volvo, which was parked a little farther up the street. The chrome trim on its front and rear bumpers was pockmarked from Lila’s technique of parallel parking. She’d back up until she tapped the car behind her, inch forward until she tapped the car in front. Only sometimes, it was more than a tap.