It occurred to me that this immensely pleasant lunch was the kind Nancy and I might have had with Linney, had she lived. It would have been wonderful to see her grown up, fascinated with life, and making an indelible impression on those she met. This was as close as I was ever likely to come to that, and I cherished the hour.

Gail had to leave, regretting that she did, but she and Nancy exchanged numbers and vowed to meet again when I had left town. Nancy was particularly interested in seeing the Berkeley campus and the Greek amphitheater there, and Gail said she’d be delighted to give her the grand tour.

“She’s quite wonderful, don’t you think?” I asked Nancy, once Gail had left.

Nancy ventured carefully, “She seems to me to be a very smart, very attractive young woman. I’m sure she knows how the things she says and does affect other people, and she makes a charming impression, which I’m sure is deserved.” She hesitated. “I do think that maybe she puts on the girlishness a bit much.”

I was shocked to hear Nancy do anything but gush about Gail. I said as much, and she hastened to reassure me: “No, Ray, of course, I’m sure she’s a very lovely person. I just don’t think she’s unaware of how engaging she is. At least not as much as she would have you think.”

Ignoring what I assumed could only be a tinge of jealousy on Nancy’s part, I moved us to the real purpose of the lunch.

“Nancy, I was wondering . . .” How on earth could I even begin to broach this? “I was wondering if she reminded you of anyone.”

I sat back and let the spotlight of the sun set me apart from the crowd.

Nancy pondered for a moment, and the realization hit her. “Oh. Oh, you think? Yes, I suppose . . . in a way. I mean, I was several years younger than her when you and I met, but I suppose I did have her kind of energy. Is that what you mean?”

I was annoyed, but I should have hidden it better. “No, not really, Nance. No, I thought she might have reminded you a little of, well, me.”

Nancy gave me a mildly quizzical gaze. “Hm. Uh—no. No, I don’t see that.”

“Oh,” I said, sulkily.

The waiter brought me a check. It being a French restaurant, I wondered if the tip was included, but he’d made sure to notate the abbreviation for Service Non Compris. I overtipped to see if I could get a smile. He sneered at my attempt to buy his friendship. “Too much,” he said and returned a quarter and two dimes.