I nodded at her while I ignored the sounds of Rocky barking inside my house, no doubt having gotten into the garbage again and torn apart the tampons in the bathroom. It was his favorite activity.

In Heather’s living room, I settled in next to Marianne Baker, one of the original residents of Whispering Farms, the founding families of the neighborhood. She had moved away before Mark and I moved in. She shifted aside on the pristine white couch draped with a blue kantha blanket made by underprivileged women in India.

“How are you, Amy?” she said. Her eyes shifted to my injured leg, as though her eyeballs could bore right through the polyester to the bandage, and then up to the thick white binder in my lap.

“I’m doing well. It’s going to be a very busy summer, since I volunteered to chair the school carnival,” I said.

She balanced a plate of blue-cheese-stuffed dates in her lap. “That’s wonderful. I remember taking my kids to that event years ago. My son’s favorite game was the cakewalk. Do they still have that?”

I nodded, remembering last year. The cakewalk was numbered squares placed in a circle. Children would walk from square to square as music played. When it stopped, a number was chosen out of a hat, and whoever stood on that number won. The prize was selecting a donated baked good from a table inside. I wondered if this year I could just buy a bunch of cupcakes from Costco.

“Baking cakes is something of a hobby of mine, so if you need some extra prizes for the game, I’d be happy to help,” she said with a smile.

Relief and gratitude flooded in. “Yes, please. I would love that.”

“Please, ladies, let’s begin,” Heather said from the front of the room. She turned and started up the presentation, complete with handheld remote and background music. It began with drone footage over her house, flying through the front door to the kitchen. I had to stuff a date into my mouth to keep from laughing.

—

“My house. Drinks,” Melissa hissed in my ear as Jess and I walked out of Heather’s house. “Right now.”

We slowly walked toward Melissa’s house, arms linked, sadness overtaking my shoulders as I glanced down the street to Liz’s house. It looked quiet, no lights on except for one upstairs. She should have been there with us, listening to Heather’s ridiculous presentation and taking home promotional materials from the remodeling company—no doubt part of a discount, like a very elaborate, very expensive pyramid scheme. There was a Liz-shaped hole in our group, and I noticed Melissa and Jess stealing glances at her house, too.

“I miss her,” Jess said as she shook her head.