“Coulda been those sirens,” Thomas offered. “Damn things about drove me insane earlier.”

Louise nodded, motioned for me to pass her the half-empty ketchup bottles so she could get to refilling them. “Must have been a heap of accidents. Heard there was a bunch of activity over by the old playground. Nobody around here can drive worth a good goddamn.” Thomas snorted his agreement from the kitchen, and Louise turned to glance at him. “When’s the last time we had snow in April? Seems like it’s been ages.”

“Right before Junie was born,” I said without hesitation. “Thirteen years.” I remembered how big I’d been, ankles swollen to the point I couldn’t shove my feet into snow boots and had to navigate the drifts in my worn tennis shoes.

“Oh Lord, that’s right,” Louise said. She finished filling a ketchup bottle and slid it back down my direction. “You have big Saturday night plans?” She did a sideways shimmy. “Maybe a little dancing? A little drinking? A little something-something?”

“I promised Junie I’d be home early and we’d have pizza and watch a movie. I haven’t seen her since yesterday.” I didn’t need to see Louise’s eye roll to know how pathetic she found my version of an exciting Saturday night. She’d already told me enough times that youth was wasted on me. Thirty going on fifty was one of her favorite commentaries on my nonexistent social life.

“When mine were that age, I’d a been happy if someone had taken them away for a week at a time. Little smart-asses.” Louise shook her head. “Where’s she been, anyway?”

“She stayed over with Izzy Logan.” I kept my gaze on the swath of counter I was wiping. Ignored the pinch in the base of my skull.

“Those two are thick as thieves,” Louise said, and I didn’t miss the slight note of disbelief in her voice. I was used to it by now, understood that girls like Junie and girls like Izzy didn’t usually run in the same crowd. Especially not in this town, which might as well have a neon strip painted down the middle. Poor white trash on this side. Do not cross. Didn’t seem to matter that 90 percent of the town was stranded on the wrong side. The invisible line wasn’t budging based on majority rule, at least not when it came to mixing with Jenny Logan’s family. When I was in junior high, out searching the roadside ditches for cans I could recycle, I used to see Jenny tooling around in her little white convertible. She left for college when I was a sophomore in high school, and I’d assumed she was gone for good. But she’d returned two years later with half a degree she’d never used and a college boy groomed to take over her dad’s boat dealership. They weren’t anything special by city standards, but around here the Logans were practically royalty. It didn’t take much. A decent job and a house that wasn’t moveable usually did the trick.