Favorite book? Elizabeth doesn’t have a favorite, unless she does. I’d ask, but Luna and Company would draw conclusions and start rumors about Nick knowing my wife better than I do, so instead I nod. I’m trying to remember any book Elizabeth has ever mentioned, good or bad, when a voice behind me says, “It’s out of print.”

I spin around to find Jonah slumped in my leather chair. “Didn’t see you.”

“No kidding.” He’s staring at the phone in his hands.

“Did you have class today?”

“Yeah. Just got home.”

“Are you joining their book club too?”

Jonah says, “If they’ll have me.”

“Oh, I suppose we can make room,” says Luna, and everyone laughs. “Anyway, we were just paying our bill at coffee, so I suggested we come here for an impromptu planning session. But fine, confession time: I’ve been dying to see what you’ve done to the house.”

“Well, I hope you approve,” I say, trusting Luna to miss my sarcasm, which she does.

“Oh, it’s fabulous. You never know whose hands these old houses will fall into, but clearly, yours are skilled.” She winks at Elizabeth. “I’m just crazy about this mix of mod and classic. It kills me when new-money types destroy a home’s character because its best features aren’t new. Don’t take that the wrong way. I’m not talking about you. Obviously, you get it—adding funky stairs and Japanese sliding doors while keeping the widow’s walk intact, things like that. Isn’t that the most glorious term? Widow’s walk. Yours is lovely. I recognized it right away from that feature in the paper a while back.”

“Well,” I say, “good thing it’s lovely, because it sure isn’t functional.”

“No,” Luna gasps, and holds a hand to her chest. “Really?”

Jonah says, “Just try going up there and see what he does. Dad’s threats scared me more as a kid than the roof ever did.”

“Consider yourself loved,” I tell Jonah. To our guests, I explain, “It’s a death trap. The cupola, the balcony and railings: disaster. Suicide central at the moment, but we’ll get around to it one of these days.”

Luna purses her lips and flares her nostrils, as though she’s smelled something sour but doesn’t want to draw attention to the source. “Well, anyway, the interior is great. You should entertain more. Let me help you host a cocktail party. Will you, please?”

“We’ll think about it,” says Elizabeth.

Still looking at his phone, Jonah says, “There might be two copies at that antique spot by the harbor?”

Everyone except for me celebrates his discovery, and Bonnie says, “Have you read Earthly Paradise, Robert?”

I ask, “Steinbeck?”

Sympathy laughter from giddy women drinking beer in my den. And my wife. She laughs, too. So does Jonah. So does Nick.