Thom wanted to celebrate his sixteenth birthday in the garage with forty friends and classmates. One of them was Arianne’s son; the boys had known each other since elementary school.

“Thom wants to arrange everything himself. I don’t think I’ll be allowed anywhere near the garage. But you’re very welcome to come over for a drink in the kitchen.”

“The old folks’ club,” laughed Arianne.

“I’m afraid that’s how the boys see it, yes.”

“Do you know what you’ll do for drinks yet?”

“We’ll get some beer in, and some tinto de verano.”

“Tinto de what?” Arianne’s movements were growing slower. Sweat glistened on her cleavage.

“Werner’s idea. You fill a glass with ice, then pour in one part red wine and three parts Sprite. Everybody likes it, and it isn’t so strong.”

Arianne grinned. “No doubt they’ll bring the harder stuff from home.”

Helen thought back to Sara’s sweet sixteen; the following morning, there had been empty whiskey and vodka bottles strewn across the yard. Not one of them had been bought by Helen. But Thom wasn’t such a partier; nor were his friends.

Arianne got down from the machine and dabbed her face dry. “You know, Helen . . . I was talking to Jeroen yesterday. He agrees it’s a shame we’ve seen so little of each other recently. Do you remember when the four of us used to spend entire weekends on the road?”

Helen smiled sadly. “Those were the days. But Werner was still a regular employee back then. And the children are older now.”

“So you don’t have to hold their hands all day anymore.”

“No, but now there are other things.” Helen’s thoughts wandered off to when the children were still small. Sitting on the sofa together watching Teletubbies, feeding them yogurt, going on adventures in their own yard . . . Now they could hop on their scooters or get on a train and be exposed to all the dangers she’d protected them from before. Alcohol. Bad company. Crime. Drugs. Sex. Violence. Every generation made the same mistakes, but with new victims each time. She could only hope it wasn’t her children who ended up as cautionary tales. On top of that, she had to choose her words carefully these days to avoid alienating them. Their conversations were more inhibited, with deep emotions on both sides. “Parenting is less time-consuming than it used to be, but it takes a lot more energy,” she finally said. “I’m often too exhausted to leave the house in the evening.”

“But you take on an awful lot too, you know. Three kids, a full-time job, and Werner is never there. Why don’t you cut back on your hours a little? I mean . . . for some people, I understand that there’s no choice, but you guys really don’t need the money.”