These were Sam's first words as they pulled away from Thomas's driveway the following morning. She had arrived in the midst of the morning pandemonium. Frankie was in one of his more murderous, brattish moods, where his endless declarations of 'No!' took on Shakespearean dimensions. You might almost think he was shouting at God Almighty. Thomas fairly dragged him crying over to Mia's while Sam watched from the driveway, leaning against her Mustang. 'Just a sec,' Thomas called, glancing at her in exasperated apology. Ripley, of course, was at her angelic best. She was no Frankie, and she made sure Sam knew as much by beaming a sunny 'Why, hello!' while her brother wailed. Mia leaned out his screen door, entirely unimpressed with Frankie's tantrum. He made no secret of his interest in Sam as the kids hustled past him.

'Frankie's having a bad morning,' Thomas said, though Mia had yet to look at him. 'I mean bad bad. I feel like I should mow your lawn or something.'

'I feel like I should mow your lawn,' Mia said, scrutinizing Sam the way a horny truck-driver might. He smiled and waved.

'Um, it's on the wrong side of the fence, don't you think?'

Mia laughed. 'I still get drunk from time to time—shoo, shoo. Go be investigated.'

Thomas shook his head, smiling. 'She is a babe, isn't she?'

Frankie was yelling at Ripley from somewhere in the house.

'Oh no, not her. She's a fox.'

'So it's good I'm a chicken, you think?'

Mia had ignored him, calling out to Sam instead. 'Traffic-wise you might want to drive out to the 87!' Thomas had turned in time to see her smile and nod in dubious thanks.

Now, sitting in the passenger seat, he pondered her question, trying to look past her glamor. Sunlight streamed across her, shorn of its glare by the windshield. Bunched about her waist and hips, her charcoal skirt and suit jacket looked hot to the touch. She seemed fresh and new—even the fabric-in-sun smell of her tickled him with a sense of novelty.

'I'm not so sure that I do "know people",' he said, glancing out his window at a passing brick bungalow. A mother in gardening clothes whisked by. She was scolding a crying girl, who held a broken-necked flower. 'Not anymore.'

And just like that, he was depressed.

There was regret in Sam's smile. All verbal roads led to Neil; she had to know as much.

'Well,' she said lamely, 'there's knowing and then there's knowing.'