Their route takes them through the Smith College campus and beyond, past Cooley Dickinson Hospital, until they enter Florence and Alice realizes where they are going—to Look Park. It has been years since they visited the park with its little zoo and the miniature train that circles around it. They spent many a summer Sunday at Look Park, swimming and walking the trails, picnicking on a basket stuffed with their favorite picnic food—cold chicken and potato salad, Jell-O salad, and, at Stacy’s request, Ring Dings for dessert. They’d visit the zoo twice, once to say hello and once to say good-bye. A dime bought a handful of feed for the goats. Once one of the goats knocked Stacy down, but she got up, dusted herself off, and announced that the goat was sorry and wouldn’t do it again, then asked if she could have more feed.

“Do you remember how Stacy would always call out ‘Look! Park!’ when we saw the gates?” Ed signals to get in line at the entrance. There are hundreds of cars; even for a spectacular September Sunday, that seems like a lot.

“I remember. She never got tired of the joke.”

Ahead of them is a van hauling a small trailer holding a big wicker basket. “Hey, Alice, I think I know what’s going on.”

“I think you’re right.”

“The balloon festival. We always promised Stacy that we’d let her go up in the tether ride, just as soon as she got big enough to see over the edge of the basket.”

“How come we never did that?”

“Got busy with other things, forgot about it. I don’t think we’ve been here since she was eleven.”

They are talking about Stacy. They almost never speak of her. Only the strangled admission of missing her on those days when the grief rises like the immutable tide. Never like this, conversationally.

Ed finds a parking spot on the edge of the field and they sit for a few minutes, watching the balloonists set up. Each group has what seems like acres of silk stretched out on the ground. Oranges, yellows, black, and lime green—the hues are like a giant’s spilled paint box. Ed squares his ball cap on his head. “Come on.”

Buddy trots along beside Alice, obviously excited to be in a new place. He keeps looking at her to make sure she’s there, then puts his nose to the ground to sniff up the myriad scents of new people, dogs, and dropped hot dogs. Ed leads them to a booth advertising tether rides.

“Really, Ed?”

Ed wraps an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her close. “Yes, really. We always said we would, and now we are.”

“We said we’d take Stacy.”

“And we are.”

“What do you mean?”