Joy debated what to do after the meeting when she remembered that Peter Womack, Maggie’s fourth-grade teacher, was bartending at Poor People’s Pub this summer. She’d known Peter for years and years. Peter was also divorced, and Holly was always after Joy to date him. But Block Island had just under a thousand year-round residents: the problem with dating was that you only had so many false starts before everyone in town would know the things you wouldn’t do in bed and—sometimes worse—the things you would do after two and a half glasses of Chardonnay.

She went home for her bike, then rode to the pub and locked it up outside.

“Make me something,” she told Peter, sliding onto a stool.

Peter raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?” he asked. “Something besides the Decoy Sauvignon Blanc? You always order the Decoy.” Before taking the job at Poor People’s Pub, Peter had bartended at Ballard’s, and before that at Captain Nick’s; he’d served Joy a lot of glasses of Decoy Sauvignon Blanc.

“I know,” sighed Joy. “I’m a creature of habit. It’s not my favorite of my personality traits, believe me.”

“Nothing wrong with habits,” said Peter.

“Especially if you’re a nun,” said Joy.

“Ha!” Peter laughed, loud and genuine. “I always forget how funny you are, Joy Sousa. What do you want me to make you?”

“Something fun,” Joy said. “Something summery and fun.” She looked carefully at Peter. He was cute, if a tiny bit pudgy, and he was single. Also, he thought Joy was funny. Maybe she should overlook her rule about on-island dating. Then she remembered that she wasn’t looking to date anyone at all, because she was a self-sufficient modern woman who did not need a man to be happy. Peter drew his eyebrows together, thinking. “Summery and fun, no problem.”

It was only four-thirty. The summer sun was still ridiculously high in the sky, shining like crazy, almost bragging, and the sunburned tourists were only just coming off the beaches and starting to think about cocktails and appetizers. The bar was mostly empty.

“Maggie’s with the ex-husband,” Joy said. “And the newish wife. And the two-year-old.” She appreciated that Peter winced on her behalf.

“That’s okay,” he said. “Good for Maggie to spend time there.”

“I’m just worried . . .” Joy paused. What exactly was she worried about? “I’m just worried Maggie is going to feel like she’s been replaced.” Tiki was cute, even Joy had to admit that. She had Dustin’s piercing blue eyes and Sandy’s full lips.

“Nobody could replace Maggie,” Peter said, loyally and also accurately. “I saw her the other day, you know. She’s looking so grown up!”

“Don’t say that, Peter. I’m not ready for that.” Often Joy still thought of Maggie as a six-year-old with a missing tooth and a little-kid version of a beer gut; sometimes it downright shocked her to see Maggie’s long limbs and watch the face of a young woman, the new dips and hollows in her cheekbones, start to emerge.