She stopped turning heads the way those girls do a long time ago, and she likes to think she’s OK with it, but she can’t shake the feeling that she’ll be weighed-in and judged. She’s not old, but she finds it disconcerting to be at the end of the middle part of life. Her crow’s-feet grow deeper and longer by the minute, she’s got elevens between her eyes, and tiny vertical lines like a bar code have appeared on the skin above her lip. She happily forks over hundreds of dollars for the occasional fillers, but they can only do so much.

Sherri smiles. “I guess Gloria has taken up permanent space in my brain.”

“Mine is filled up with too much other shit to make room for that old hag. But you look good, Sher. You really do.”

“So do you.”

“Shut the fuck up. Five kids and a busted knee have done a number on me. At least my grandkids keep me moving around. Jason, my oldest, he’s got four now, and my girl Jenny, she’s on her third. I’m on granny duty most days—who would have thought we’d be grandmas?”

“I’m not.”

Val seems confused by this. “So that’s why you look so good. Never married?”

“Once. We didn’t last long.” She still speaks with Mitch often—she even called him on the drive to Beloit. His laconic voice always calms her. He makes for good company, but they’re better off as friends. After Arthur, she knew there was more, and she’s happy that that’s what Mitch found with Beth. They visit Sherri and Bayard in Palm Springs all the time. Mitch loves to park whatever car he’s driving in front of their house. Cars, he says, look best in the desert. Last time, it had been a green Triumph that he and Violet had rebuilt together. Beth and Bayard never mind when Sherri and Mitch wax nostalgic about their wild days in Palm Springs. They aren’t jealous when Mitch winks at Sherri as they drive past the O’Donnell Golf Club and says, “That’s where I knocked you up.”

“Kids?” Val asks.

“One. Violet.”

“Why just one? Problems with the plumbing?”