Janet and Lucy have created an ideal home for Desi, all of us an extended family, a supportive and protective matrix. He would be an orphan otherwise, and what a loss that would be. Such an irresistible lovely boy, the incarnate Christopher Robin, my sister says, his blue eyes mesmerizing, his mop of light brown hair streaked blond by the sun.

Nine now, Desi is growing up fast, all legs and arms, and his face has become more angular. He’s nimble, fearless and scary smart, and I’ve begun to tease Lucy that at last she’s met her match. Who wouldn’t want to be part of a family unit like that? And I’m unpleasantly reminded of what Benton said before our dinner was interrupted.

He suggested that Dorothy and Marino might have more than a playful flirtation going on. Now she’s on her way here when she’s never bothered once the entire time I’ve lived and worked in the northeast. Marino has bonded with Desi, taking him fishing, teaching him how to play baseball, giving him his first taste of beer, and the track my thoughts are running along is too unpleasant to dwell on.

It’s distasteful if not enraging to imagine Dorothy with Desi. My selfish sister who couldn’t be bothered with Lucy. My male-addicted only sibling who always forgot about her daughter the instant the newest suitor was at the door. And now all I hear from Dorothy is Desi this and Desi that, as if there’s nothing she adores more than to nurture and attend to a child, especially a male child. It’s obscene. It’s the height of hypocrisy, and then I can’t bear to think about it anymore. I blank it out.

Dorothy should be landing at Logan fairly soon, assuming her plane hasn’t been further delayed. Lucy, Janet and Desi are probably picking her up, and that’s why Lucy isn’t getting back to me, I tell myself. She’s busy driving one of her demanding supercars or tricked-out armor-clad SUVs. But who knows what anybody is doing, including my husband. I have no idea what Benton’s phone call from Washington, D.C., was about. I haven’t a clue where he is.

It’s surreal that our dinner date has come to this, and then I click on the phone app for the security cameras we use to monitor the dogs. Sock and Tesla were in the living room a while ago. Now they’re sleeping in their memory-foam bed in the kitchen, and I back up the recording to when Page the dog sitter is walking in. Obviously Benton has let her know something has come up and we’re not certain when we’ll be home.