“So is crap,” she said. “Milagro, I know you want to talk about what’s going on with you and Ian, but I can’t get involved, because he’s my business partner. Please don’t ask me to play sides, because I like you both.”

“But you like me better, right?”

Now she laughed and said, “Don’t try me when you know Ian paid for the club’s renovation. If you go to the corner store and pick up two jumbo bags of M&Ms for the Green Room, I’ll give you a T-shirt.”

“Fine,” I said, swinging my legs over and standing up. “Peanut or regular?”

The show was great and afterward I went home and took Rosemary out for his last walk of the day. He was a good dog, but I still didn’t love him the way I’d loved my first dog. Even now I noticed that Rosemary didn’t perk his ears the way Daisy used to perk hers.

I felt so guilty about my ambivalence that I gave Rosemary a splash of my chicken blood nightcap before bed.

During the next few days, I caught up with my Stitching & Bitching group at the Baltic, a German bar with a delightful Mexican owner named Carlos. He let us use the stage to have an impromptu poetry slam on knitting and politics, and then my friends tried to help me with my latest project. I was trying to knit a scarf with a bluish gray alpaca-wool-silk blend that matched Oswald’s eyes. I didn’t know if I’d ever give it to him.

Early one morning I drove north to the posh wine country town where Oswald had his plastic surgery office, offering succor and sutures to the wealthy and imperfect.

As I went past the hillside winery with a funicular, I thought ruefully of a disastrous lunch there with Oswald’s parents.

I parked my truck a few blocks away from Oswald’s office and snuck into a café that had a good view of his parking lot.

I nursed a double latte for an hour and had started on my second when I saw Oswald’s dark blue Lexus drive into the lot. I slunk low in my seat, the latte halfway to my mouth, as I watched him get out of his car.

Oswald’s chestnut hair was longer and brushed back. His expression was solemn and he wore a gray suit and pale blue shirt. There was the broad brow that I’d kissed. There was the lovely mouth that tugged up in a crooked smile. There were the marvelous long-fingered hands that had cared for me when I was ill and delighted me when I was well.

I stared at the building’s back entrance long after Oswald had gone inside. I was fumbling in my handbag for a tip when I heard someone say, “Hi, Milagro.”