The guy was on his cell phone, of course, and he didn’t turn around.

Joy had twenty-five pounds of flour in the back of her Jeep, and the busiest season of the year was upon her. She wasn’t going to park in any other spot than her own. “Come on, asshole,” she said. Joy had never used the word asshole when she was younger. But single motherhood and years of small business ownership on a seasonal island had toughened her right up.

Her phone buzzed. A text from her daughter, Maggie. Want me to cook dinner? Joy’s heart expanded, not only because Maggie had offered, but also because she was up before ten-thirty, which meant that maybe she wasn’t acting entirely like a teenager just yet. Joy had been a wild teenager herself, given to dramatic emotional swings and inappropriate crushes, which she sometimes indulged in on the streets of Fall River because she had four brothers who were so full of vim and vigor themselves that it was easy for Joy to fly under the radar.

Maggie was thirteen, about to enter the eighth grade at Block Island’s teeny-tiny school, where she would have eight classmates, unless someone new exactly Maggie’s age moved to town (unlikely). The rising junior class had only five students, so in fact Maggie’s class was actually quite large. If such a thing as karma existed in the world, Maggie was gearing up to give Joy a run for her money.

The asshole was still on his phone, so Joy took a second to text back. It’s covered today. I’m making veggie chili. She took the time to insert the proper punctuation in the text, apostrophes in the contractions, a period at the end of the sentence. She couldn’t help herself, and also Maggie shook her head sternly if Joy used too many abbreviations. Abbreviations, like everything else, were for the young.

Dinner by Dad? texted Maggie.

Dinner by Dad was Joy’s favorite cooking blog, and earlier that day she had fired up her laptop to check out the latest post. On Dinner by Dad, stay-at-home dad (SAHD) Leo always had a fresh pot of coffee ready for his wife, Jacqui, before she set off for a day in the city. Sometimes Jacqui left before dawn, especially when she was working on a big case. And still Leo had the coffee ready. It was amazing, really, what Leo accomplished. Leo ran four miles as the sun rose, always had a smile on his face and a slice of sprouted wheat in the toaster. Joy hoped his wife appreciated him.

U got it. Joy allowed herself the U, for the sake of time.

Chili in the summer?

I KNOW, Joy texted back. But it’s loaded with summer veggies. I trust him. Did she ever. She had a substantial crush on Leo. She had been to the Wednesday morning farmers’ market behind the Spring House Hotel the day before—she preferred it to the Saturday one at Legion Park, which was always more crowded because of the weekenders—and she was up to her eyeballs in vegetables. If a batch of chili proved too much for the two of them, she could freeze the extra.