“My parents garden,” she said. “I had my own flower plot and worm bin growing up, but I don’t know much about roses. Are these heirloom varieties?”

I grinned and said, “Let me get my gloves so you won’t get snagged by thorns.”

I dashed to the ugly truck, grabbed my goatskin gloves and a plastic bin for green waste, and ran back. I handed Lily the gloves and led her to a large shrub growing over an arch. “She’s called Reve D’Or, or Dream of Gold. The flowers get more goldy-pink if the plant is in partial shade.”

“It’s gorgeous,” she said.

“The best thing is the fragrance.” I plucked off one of the creamy flowers and held it to her nose.

“Heavenly.” She crouched down, and I saw her pinch a weed at the base and pull it up by the roots. Pleased that she knew what she was doing, I began to snip at the roses.

Soon we were working harmoniously, moving from one shady area to the next as the sun moved across the sky. The novelty of giving a self-centered monologue wore off. I preferred the interactive drama wherein I nattered as inanely as possible and Mercedes tried to talk sense into me, or Nancy said something even more outlandish.

“Lily, where do you live?”

“Lately in Boston, but I’ve been all over for college, med school, and training,” she said. I’d given her the pruners and she was holding them toward a shrub. “My folks are north of Seattle. What about this branch?”

“Leave it, because we can train it over the top of the fence. What do you do for fun?”

“I like to sketch and do watercolors.”

“What about guys? Do you have any patients doing transference and falling madly in love with you, or hot docs who want to do in-depth consultations?”

She laughed. “It’s completely unethical to get involved with patients, and my situation is complicated by the family condition.”

“You and Oswald keep using that word: ‘complicated.’” I reached over and plucked a leaf out of her hair. “I look at Oswald and I can’t imagine what our life was like together, and the sex …”

“Mmm?”

“He must have been incredible, or why would I get engaged to him? I look at those long fingers and think of what they could do to a woman’s body, and that mouth, oh, my. The way he smiles crookedly is sexy, don’t you think?”

“Well …,” she said uncomfortably. “He does have a nice smile.”

“‘Nice’? There’s such a thing as taking understatement too far, Lily,” I returned to waxing poetic about our host. “I’m enraptured by the way his jeans lovingly embrace his ass, and those eyes, like the color of storm clouds, portending something thunderous to come, and by ‘come’ I mean—”

Lily said, “Milagro?”