Jack stood next to his dad, flipping cheeseburgers on the grill. He was tall and gangly, still adjusting to his height and long-limbed youth, two inches taller than the father he adored. Jack’s height had come to him later in life than his friends, and at times he had seemed to trip over his own feet as though his shoes were too large. He was handsome, as expected, since his father’s genes dominated in the bones, muscles and eyes. The only thing Amy could detect of herself in her son was his mouth—a wide smile that couldn’t be faked. His blue eyes were softer in color than his father’s, but identical in the silk-fabric appearance. He pulled Lisbeth closer.

Amy stared, shamelessly stared, at Lisbeth. She would not have been able to identify Lisbeth as any part of Eliza if she’d not been introduced. She would have expected a woman like Eliza to have a daughter who was a doll-like version of herself—a Skipper to her Barbie. Instead, Amy was stunned by the exotic beauty of a pale, dark-haired girl whose only attribute from her mother was her blue eyes snapping from a face of Nick’s curves and lines. Oak- and molasses-colored ringlets fell to her shoulders; a small barrette clung to the curls—a vain attempt to restrain them. She seemed a wild and beautiful child—exotic, opposite to Eliza.

Jack and Lisbeth floated from the grill to a cluster of people without letting their hands ever leave each other—some body part in constant contact. There was no fighting for attention as was common in youthful gatherings. They were the exact same age she and Nick had been when they dated in college—when Nick had left and never returned. Unbidden images ran through her mind: tousled sheets, murmured promises, wet limbs. She pushed them to the back of her mind to examine later and turned from her son and his girlfriend.

Eliza—Amy had to fight the urge to call her Barbie—found Amy alone and sprawled in a chair, avoiding Nick. Eliza sat down in the empty seat next to Amy, who damned Carol Anne for vacating the seat to find a bathroom in the chemistry building.

Eliza smiled, flipped her hair, and nodded toward Jack and Amy. “They seem pretty serious, huh?”

“They sure do.” Amy lifted her hand, dropped it to the chair, not sure where to put any part of her—as if Eliza might know where her hands had once been.

“I never understand the hoopla around these games, but Nick and the kids sure do love them.”

“Well, they’re a lot of fun . . . and it’s always good to see old friends and—”

Eliza raised her hand in the air. “I know—that’s what Nick always says. My college didn’t have a football team, so I never got into the whole tailgating thing.”

“Where did you go to school?”