I’d refused to sign the neighborhood petition demanding that she cut her grass and chain the dogs. A lawyer who’d rehabbed the house across the street from her wanted to take her to court and force the city to remove the dogs. He’d been around, trying to drum up support. My building was pretty evenly divided—Vinnie, the tight-assed banker who lived on the ground floor, had eagerly signed on, as had the Koreans on the second floor; they had three children and were worried about dog bites. But Mr. Contreras, Berit Gabrielsen, and I firmly opposed the idea. Even though I wished Mrs. Frizell would neuter the Labrador, the dogs weren’t really a menace. Just a minor nuisance.

“The puppies worrying you?” Max came up behind me as I stood lost in thought over the kitchen sink.

“No, not really. Anyway, they’re living with Mr. Contreras, so they won’t be under my feet. I hate to find myself cooing over them with his enthusiasm, because getting them all back and forth for shots and everything else is going to be nightmare enough. And then finding homes for them, training the ones we can’t give away—but they are adorable.”

“I’ll put a notice in the hospital newsletter if you like,” Max offered. He was the executive director at Beth Israel, where Lotty sent her perinatal patients.

Or’ swept into the kitchen as I was thanking him, resplendent in soft coal crepe that clung to her body like soot. She kissed Max on the cheek and held out a hand to me.

“Good to meet you, Victoria. I hope we’ll see you after the concert.”

“Good luck,” I said. “I’m eager to hear your new concerto.”

“I know you’ll be impressed with it, Victoria,” Max said. “I’ve been listening to the rehearsal all week.” Michael and Or’ had been staying with him in Evanston.

“Yes, you are an angel, Max, putting up with our swearing and screeching for six days. Good-bye.”

It was only six o’clock; the concert didn’t begin until eight. The three of us ate poached pears with almond cream and lingered over coffee in Lotty’s bright, spare living room.

“I hope Or’ has done something palatable in Theresz’s honor,” Lotty said. “Vic and I went to hear the Contemporary Chamber Ensemble play an octet and a trio of hers and we both left with headaches.”

“I haven’t heard the piece played through properly, but I think you’ll be pleased. She’s done some very painful work on this—examined the past in a way that many contemporary Israelis don’t want to.” Max looked at his watch. “I think I must have prepremiere butterflies as well, but I’d like to get an early start.”