No one believed Polly about anything, and it was wearing her down. As she craned to check behind the car, she saw the alley rabbit by a neighbor’s gate, and the alley rabbit—clear-eyed, dusty gravel-gray fur, brain the size of a chickpea—watched back, sweetly framed by new green grass. Fritz, a black-and-tan mutt, saw the rabbit, too, and went on something close to a point, frozen with one paw up, tail straight. The old poodle watched, and Jane’s spaniel twisted on her lap, but the children in the back seat seemed oblivious. Sam was reading a comic, and Helen kicked her grubby sockless sneakers in time to a Clash song Polly was playing to annoy her mother.

One side effect of Polly’s head injury was a tendency to lose her train of thought. Once she saw the rabbit, which had waited for them every morning that week like some furry Pythonesque talisman, she might as well have been another dog. But Jane would not give up the argument, which was really about what Sam and Helen would remember about a drowning that had happened two days earlier.

“All those photos we have out for Maude’s party—you’re turning them into memories,” said Jane. “You’ve always been muzzy that way, but the head thing has made it harder to tell the difference.”

Muzzy; was that a word? Polly and the rabbit held their stare, and here was the thing: Polly wanted to reach behind and set Fritz free, give him a little joy. He’d never manage to catch it, and maybe this was a game for the rabbit, too.

“It’s possible that you remember that first apartment, or doing errands in the Village,” said Jane, oblivious.

If they kept this up, Jane would be putting her daughter in a book. Polly thought she might as well give her something to write about. She was reaching back with her left hand for the door handle when a flash of light glinted through the trees, like a bright-plumed bird, a noisy parrot: the helicopter looking for their friend Ariel Delgado.

“Give me another example,” said Jane. “And what are you doing with the back door? You need to concentrate on the car, honey. And Sam, put on your belt.”

“Nothing,” said Polly, bringing both hands to the wheel. This was the second time she’d driven in a month. In the rearview mirror, she watched Sam peacefully turn pages, Helen hug the spaniel now trampling her lap. Two women, two children, and three dogs in one car; a strange idea of fun. “Well,” she said, while Sam fumbled with his belt. “Another example, then. The drowning.”

“What do you mean?” said Jane.