A stray yellow leaf threaded with red fell into Phil’s hair. Amy plucked it from his head—ordinary motions an antidote to the unexpected.

She glanced at Jack and Lisbeth standing next to Eliza, searched for something, anything to say to Nick and his wife—but she only found a gray swirling space as her mouth opened and closed. God, this woman, Eliza, must think her a mute fool, just standing there with an open fish mouth.

“Aren’t these football games fun?” Eliza said.

“Especially when they’re having a winning season,” Phil answered, squeezing Amy’s elbow.

“Yeah, the last time Saxton won the national championship was when Nick was here.” Eliza giggled. “We won’t say what year that was.”

Jack laughed. “Jeez, that was like, what? Thirty years ago?”

“Oh, thanks for the reminder.” Eliza tickled the side of Jack’s arm. Amy wanted to slap her hand away.

Amy looked up at her son. “No, more like twenty-five years ago.”

Eliza then turned to her daughter, pulled her away from Jack and began to attempt to smooth down her curls while talking to her.

Phil looked at Amy with large eyes, with furrowed forehead. Everything about Phil looked eager, even when it wasn’t. His smooth skin, without freckle or mole, gave the appearance of everlasting youth—soft mouth, wet eyes and rounded eyebrows creating an anticipatory look. Amy had appreciated this when he first came to her—his softness a place to finally lay her wounded self. She brushed his hair back from his eyes, his blond hair always falling in the wrong places.

“Did y’all know each other at school?” Phil said.

“Sure . . .” Nick answered.

“A long time ago,” Amy said, reaching for Phil’s arm.

Nick laughed and smiled at Amy. “Yes, a very long time ago.”

Nick possessed the same goofy “I’m uncomfortable but aren’t I hiding it great” grin that moved across his face in waves, waves she’d ridden . . . before. She smiled—certain she showed nothing of what cracked within her.

“So how have you been all these years?” She found she was speaking.

“I’ve been fine, just fine. And you?”

“Perfect . . . thanks,” she said.

Phil tilted his head and rubbed at a spot between his eyes, at the top of his nose—something he did when he was confused.

Eliza turned her attention back to the group. “So, Reynolds family, where do y’all live?”

“Darby,” Phil said. “And you?”

“We lived up north in Maine for way, way too long, but we moved back to Garvey about eight years ago. That’s where I’m from—grew up there. You know, there’s just no place like home.” Eliza sighed—a long, exhausted sigh as if the journey of her life had finally led her to a place of rest.