‘I saw Drew this weekend,’ Tarla said instead, thinking of mothers and children.

‘Yes, he just got back home.’

‘How is he?’ she asked, knowing the answer, which was: Not good. Diane’s son had battled drugs most of his life and had largely surrendered in his fight with addiction. It had been a source of heartache for Diane – and arguments with Birch – throughout their marriage.

‘The doctors say he’s better, but he’s been better before,’ Diane replied. ‘Sooner or later, he starts again.’

‘I know. I’m sorry.’

‘You’re lucky with Cab.’

‘I am, but Cab’s a loner like me. He shuts me out.’

‘I don’t know if that’s true,’ Diane said.

Tarla smiled. ‘No? He spent more time with you than with me when he was here this summer. Avoiding his mother is his avocation.’

‘He loves you, and he’s a gem,’ Diane lectured her, in a terse voice that said: You’ve got everything.

Tarla didn’t protest. Diane was right.

Her friend’s gaze landed on her husband in the crowd. Birch Fairmont was easy to spot. His voice was loud, his laugh exaggerated so that everyone could hear him. He had a lion’s mane of gray hair that shone like wax under the torches, and a bronzed Florida tan. Normal people wilted under the humidity, but Birch glowed. He was big, with a prominent nose, plump cheekbones, jutting chin, and a stomach pushing over his belt. He wasn’t tall, but he had charisma and confidence, the kind of magnetism that drew people to him. He was tailor-made to sell to the voters.

‘Lyle and Caprice think he’s really going to win,’ Diane said.

Tarla was unimpressed. ‘So I hear.’

‘He got into the race as a protest. No one expected him to make any noise. Now Lyle says he’s in the lead.’

‘The incumbent died, and the new Dem is left of Nancy Pelosi,’ Tarla scoffed. ‘Chuck Warren, the Republican, cozies up to rightwing nutjobs. Birch looks like a statesman by comparison to those clowns.’

‘It’s a big thing,’ Diane insisted. ‘Caprice says this election could be the start of a national third party movement.’

Tarla laughed, which was the wrong thing to do, because she knew it annoyed her friend. ‘That’s what they said about that wrestler in Minnesota, too. Does Birch plan to shave his head and wear a feather boa?’

‘It’s not funny, Tarla,’ Diane snapped. ‘I believe in this.’

‘I’m not questioning the message,’ Tarla replied, ‘just the messenger.’