I nodded and held out one of my arms, tracing a finger along a blue vein. “He thinks his veins are chargers, like something that would connect to an outlet.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Always about the electronics, right? If he had an electrical system in his body, would it mean we could power him down at night?”

I took another sip of my wine and gave him a wry smile. “If only.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back. “Have you talked to Jess or Melissa lately?”

A pang of anxiety ran through my stomach. “We haven’t really spoken since the carnival.”

He put a hand on my knee. “They’re dealing with a lot. They’ll come around.”

I gave him a grateful smile. “I hope so.” I didn’t tell him that my hope had dwindled down to the faintest, smallest whisper.

After a delicious meal of risotto with scallops, beef Wellington, and a lot more wine, we were ready to leave. After we paid the bill and stood up, a group of women at the corner table caught my eye. There were four of them: a tall blonde, a short brunette, a redhead, and one with glossy mahogany lowlights. I had to look twice, as at first glance, the four of them resembled me and my friends.

“Ready to go?” Mark said as he put his wallet in his back pocket.

I shook my head slightly, and the women came into focus. It had been a mirage, an image created by my subconscious. These women were at least a decade older than us and, other than hair color and stature, didn’t look anything like us.

“Let’s do it,” I said, and Mark held his arm out for me to lead the way.

Our exit path took us past the table of women.

“How much wine have you had, Belinda?” the blonde asked with a laugh.

“Not nearly enough,” the redhead said as she held up her hand to signal to the waiter. “Another bottle, and keep it coming!” The four of them broke out in loud peals of laughter.

I smiled at them, the sadness that was always in the back of my mind brought to the forefront. Once upon a time, that was us. Drinking wine, laughing, sharing stories about our families and children. I would never have that again.

When we were in the car, a question to Mark came bubbling up. “Honey, you don’t really think that everything that’s happened this summer has been a coincidence, do you?”

His eyes remained fixed on the road, and I could tell by the way he tensed his shoulders that he had been waiting for this question. “I don’t see how it could be anything else but a coincidence.”