“I can't tell you what to do about this.” Ruth looked sorry. She made eye contact, set her cards down.

“You tell me what to do all the time. And what not to do.” Mano's laugh caught the throat phlegm from all her crying, and she half choked.

“Too bad you didn't ask me about this dead animal sculpture,” Ruth said, smiling. “I would have given a real clear no on that one.”

“I think I'm going to call Keith.” Mano savored Ruth's shocked expression. It tasted sweet, this openness, like some sort of freedom.

“Think twice before you do anything stupid,” Ruth said. She tilted her head to the side, tapped her index finger on the newspaper photo. Her face was loving. Understanding. “Anything else, I mean.”

Mano didn't know which of her choices, past or future, she'd end up regretting the most. But Ruth's coffee, her pickles, her Lorna Doone cookies, her judgment, her presence, had become part of the shelter of the house. Mano felt it solidify something underneath and inside her.

KEITH'S BACKYARD WAS A revelation. He planned to start a business growing native plants for yards and gardens. He'd turned his half-acre lot into an experimental low-water landscape, had built himself a small greenhouse for breeding native seed. “They know there isn't near enough water for all the people about to move in around here, and the lawns are an absolute disaster, water-wise. Anyway, they call it ‘xeriscaping,' landscaping to save water. Pretty sure there's a future in it.”

Mano, knowing how much Ruth loved her peonies and her tulips, how much time and effort she put into her Kentucky bluegrass, doubted the solvency of his plan. “If I wanted to live in a desert,” Ruth would say, “I'd have stayed in Nevada,” and so Mano was only half listening as Keith droned on about plants—columbine and manzanita, grama grass and waxflower—all grown from seed he'd collected in the wild. She considered the best way to interrupt him. He'd be more open to her ideas if she was naked, but she decided to keep her clothes on.

“We have to tell people about the fish kills,” she said, cutting off a passionate monologue about breeding for drought tolerance. “Call the state regulators. The newspaper.”

Keith shook his head. “Lloyd would know it was us.”

“Lloyd is already going to hell. We might as well go right with him if we let this go on.” Keith wouldn't meet her eyes. He knew he was taking the wrong side. She'd already lost.

“I can't risk my job over some fish, Mano. You shouldn't either. Lloyd says it's not harmful to people or anything. Like there's not enough of whatever the chemical is to poison a whole human.”