She was the sort of woman who enjoyed intimidating others, so I looked sincere and said, “That story does sound implausible, but I’ll work on a few subplots to fill it out so that there’s sufficient foreshadowing and a reasonable justification.”

“That’s the spirit, Young Lady.” And then her bravado was gone and she turned away.

AG stood and said, “Edna, are you all right?”

“I just need a moment.”

I jumped up and went to her. “Can I do anything?”

She produced a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “Yes, give me a hug.”

“But Lily said I was to avoid flesh-on-flesh contact.”

“Good God, you always make everything sound sordid,” the woman said, giving me a look that would have seared a T-bone in seconds. “Are you going to listen to her or me?”

I put my arms around the woman and felt her soft cheek against mine. She smelled marvelous, like the scent released by lemon verbena in a spring shower, and I got a comforting zizz from her. She drew in a ragged breath and I patted her on the back and said, “I wish I wasn’t making everybody miserable.”

“That’s always been your way, Young Lady, leaving a wake of destruction in your rush to the next party or attractive man,” she said, and then we both started laughing.

“That sounds like someone I know,” said Mr. Grant dryly. “I think I’ll go back to bed. Good night, Edna, Milagro.”

When he left the room, the woman stepped back and looked at me, and I looked at her.

I said, “You do know me, right?”

“Much to my eternal regret. I’m Edna Grant, Oswald’s grandmother. Your new friend, AG, is my ex-husband. They told me you were in bad shape.”

“I am. I’ve wasted away.” I held my arms out. “Can’t you see how emaciated I am?”

“Your emaciated is another woman’s normal. You look fine.”

“Perhaps we have different standards,” I said. “I don’t hold to the unrealistic, airbrushed consumer-media ideals. I think feminine curves are delightful.”

“Traumatized or not, you are as full of nonsense as ever. Let’s go for a walk.”

I looked to the window and could see dawn edging in past the espresso brown velvet drapes. “What if someone attacks me outside?”

“Fight him off.”

“Because I’m like a superhero now, right?”

“No,” she said. “There are private security guards stationed outside the gate, and you’re also protected by our family.”

“Family like family, or family like the mob?”

“The mob? I’m sure that would appeal to your absurd fantasies.”

“I don’t have absurd fantasies, but I don’t expect those who are more prosaic to comprehend my vibrant inner life.” I followed her through the kitchen to the mudroom, where Mrs. Grant plucked a wide-brimmed straw hat from a hook and put it on.