“Alex, my boy.” Nick’s voice took on the tone he had once used to break up fights at Hank’s Pool Hall—a tone that simultaneously held strength and playfulness, and could reduce even the most testosterone-fueled aggression. “I don’t think that is your mother’s point. I do believe she was trying to tell Lisbeth not to—”

“Oh, please,” Lisbeth interrupted. “I already jumped, okay? Okay?” She reached for Jack’s hand. “We jumped holding hands. It was not a big deal. We jumped off the lowest rock. Just drop it, Mom.”

Eliza took a deep breath. “Dear God, Lisbeth.” She looked to Amy as if it were her fault that Lisbeth, the dearest one, had jumped.

“I jumped in college.”

Amy turned to see who had just confessed such a sin when she realized she herself was speaking. “I still remember the way my stomach tingled like it was too heavy and didn’t want to jump with me, like it would stay up on the rock while I jumped. I remember.” She turned the antler fork around in her hand. “My friends were down below, floating on black inner tubes that seconds before had seemed huge and safe, but now looked like black doughnuts with open mouths. They were screaming, ‘You can do it. You can do it.’ Carol Anne had on a neon bikini we’d bought together at JCPenney. My throat had a little flutter at the bottom. Then I jumped into the water. My breath was sucked out of me.” Amy paused, took a breath. “Then I popped out of the water. I only did it that one time. Just once.”

Amy dropped her fork on the white linen napkin, looked up to see silverware paused in midair, wide eyes unblinking. She closed her fist in her lap, the thing she did when attempting to stop a flow of unwanted words. It usually worked.

She hadn’t said the worst part out loud, had she? That she’d jumped with Nick, that it was how love felt—then. Not solid and grounded as it did now. Then, love was like flying—fearful flying without breath—through the air, weightless.

“Very cool.” Lisbeth spoke low, a whisper across the silent table.

“Yeah, Mom. How come you never told me?” Jack asked.

“You never asked.” Amy smiled at her son and didn’t dare look at Nick. “You think you’re the only one who had fun in college?”

“Obviously not.” Jack turned to Nick. “Did you ever jump, sir?”

“Well, since I can’t seem to avoid the question—yes, I believe I did.”

“I’m sure you did,” Amy said, her clenched fist not doing its job.

“And, Amy, do you remember such an event?” Eliza asked.