“Somehow I could tell that was coming.”

The man handed his clipboard over to Mrs. Park. The figure he put down was something even she could read: $4,600.

“Oh! Very expensive!” Mrs. Park shook her head in disbelief.

“Well, if you’re planning to sell, I don’t see what choice you’ve got. The buyer will bring in their own termite guy, and once they see what you’ve got here, the deal’s going to fall through. I see it happen all the time. I assure you, not a happy thing.”

Mrs. Park moved her lips while she did the silent math in her head, gravitating to her own corner.

“I know what we do may look invisible to you but it’s all about vigilance,” the termite man whispered to Mira. “Success to us means nothing happens.” He paced the porch, caressing and knocking on the support beams. Mira shadowed him.

“Good, solid wood.” He shook his head. “Houses built these days look like they came out of a box from IKEA. A little shake and down they go.”

Mrs. Park returned, smiling graciously.

“We think about this. We call you later, okay?” She gripped Mira’s shoulder, pulling her away from the man.

“Fine by me. But the longer we wait, the greater the damage.” He winked at Mira, cueing her to talk sense into her mother. “Is it okay if I wash my hands?”

Mrs. Park led him back into the kitchen. They passed Rosemary sprawled on the sofa, listening to the loop of “Strange Fruit.” While the man washed his hands, Mrs. Park fluttered back to the living room and slapped Rosemary’s bare thigh.

“Rosie!” she hissed. Rosemary opened her eyes and saw her mother gesticulating: her shorts! They had ridden up her thigh and part of her butt was exposed.

The termite man came back through the living room with clean hands.

“That’s a great song,” he said to Rosemary.

“Yeah, it’s really poetic.”

“A little creepy don’t you find, though?”

“How do you mean?” She tugged at the hems of her shorts.

“Black bodies hanging from the trees? Are you hearing the same song I am?”

“Well, yeah . . . It’s a song about strange fruit . . .”

The termite man smiled for the first time.

“It’s about lynching, honey.”

Mira darted out the door after her sister. Rosemary was already on her bike.

“Where are you going?” Mira called. “Wait for me, I want to come.”

The evenings were getting shorter again, even if the days were still hot and stubborn with summer. Sprinklers seemed to be running on every yard on the block except theirs.

Mira cajoled her bike out of the garage and pedaled after Rosemary.

“What’s your hurry, Stinko?”

“You’re the one who wanted to come! I didn’t invite you.”

They biked uphill fast. Rosemary was making for Mount Curve.

“Slow down, jerk!” Mira called after her.

“Just go home!”