We are on Anneliese’s rooftop that night, celebrating. That’s what I called it when I stumbled into her doorway that evening, drunk on the act of doing it. I’ll never again have to fake enthusiasm for products I don’t even care about. I’m finally rid of my basic, dull coworkers and their stupid designer sweatshirts.

She’s laid out an old blanket and paper, on which Jordan and Lola are drawing, getting marker all over the fabric, even though the sheets of paper are canvas-style. We sit beside them on the chairs, her hand clasped in mine. I worry, almost passively, about Lola wandering over to the roof’s unprotected edge, of leaning over and falling.

But Anneliese is smiling gaily, her face stretched out toward the evening sun like she’s a flower absorbing energy.

“What should I do now?” I say, my hand sweaty in her grasp.

“Anything you like! The world is wide open for you.” She’s been talking like this, in aphorisms, like an Instagram self-help page.

“What am I going to do with all this time now? It’s sinking in, you know. I might like the freedom for a few weeks. But I know myself. I’ll get restless. I need to find another job.” She turns to me, her face cast in shadow by the straw hat on her head.

“Do you, though? You have money from your father, right?”

I nod tentatively. She’s right. I need to schedule a meeting with my dad’s lawyer, the executor of his estate, whose emails I’ve been ignoring.

“So how about you lay low for a while? Chill out, take some time for yourself. There’s no rush to be employed. Sit with yourself. Enjoy your freedom. Heal.” And it’s that word again that always gets me, heal. Because she’s right. I do need more of that.

“What are the kids doing this summer?” I ask, noticing the sharp-toothed shark and elephant hybrid Jordan’s drawing in blue marker. If he goes any further south with his lines, he’ll hit Lola’s drawing, her green puppy, and there’ll be a tantrum soon.

“They’re supposed to be in day camp. But Gabriella thought Caleb was enrolling them, and he thought she was, so now they’re on the wait list at a bunch of places. God, this city is insane. Wait lists for day camp?” she scoffs.

And then an idea blossoms, a seed planted weeks ago, finally at maturation, asking to be plucked. A way of ensuring I’m continually in this family’s life. “What if I take care of them for the summer? Take them off your hands? We can go on field trips, have our own little camp. Camp Suzy. Then you’ll have more time to find a job for the fall, and I’ll have something to do with my time.”