Then in a flick of the shuffle program, the beat picks up and we’re suddenly swing dancing, twisting, trying to do the mashed potatoes on my carpet, jerking to the dances of our youth. Each of us without a partner, we dance as a group. The songs and vigorous movements last long enough that I break out in a sweat.

Several of us leave for more wine, water, soda.

And here comes a slow beat and again the women couple up and sway together. Sissy with Juliet. Taylor with Allie. I turn the music a little lower.

And then, unbelievably, Rosie extends her hand to Jeannie.

Jeannie reaches out her arm. Their fingertips touch.

I’m dancing with Charlene and turn her around so that we can watch this happen.

Jeannie glances at the ground.

Rosie’s hand remains extended. Her mouth is open, her lips curving up at the ends in the beginning of a slight smile.

Jeannie perceives the expectancy and hope. She stares at the entertainment center, away from Rosie.

Rosie presses her lips together and shakes her head sadly, but her arm remains outstretched.

Then Jeannie touches Rosie’s shoulder.

Rosie begins to lead the slow dance and then somehow, they’re in each other’s arms crying.

Allie sees this, too, and we, Allie and I with Charlene in tow, encircle them, so the five of us stand swaying while Jeannie’s head goes onto Rosie’s shoulder and she smoothes clinging hair away from Jeannie’s forehead.

“It’s been hard for me, too. Differently hard, but nonetheless. So. So?” Rosie leans back a bit and wipes another strand of hair from Jeannie’s face.

Jeannie doesn’t answer.

“So we’re going to be okay. Somehow. And I’ll be here for you,” Rosie continues as if almost-whispered words will ease Jeannie into happy compliance.

“But you’ll be there for Sue, too, and our interests are opposite. You’ll be wanting something for her that’ll hurt me and wanting something for me that’ll hurt her.”

“That’s right. But you both know that.” Jeannie nods. “And Sue’s well aware, has been aware from the beginning of her …” Rosie can’t find the right word and starts over. “She knows the pain that she and your father are causing you and your mom. Even if you never found out. And the pain they’re causing each other.”

I remember the push and pull from the horror and ecstasy of Stephen, where you think you’re teetering on the edge of the world and you’re convinced you can’t survive the abandonment, the loss. And then you gain the heaven of belonging, of being one, when you’re together. Then fear settles in as part of you. That craziness still reverberates in my love for Jim. “That pain increases the bliss,” I say.

None of us know what to say to that and we listen to the music.