Dustin said, “Hmm.” He picked up a whoopie pie and put the whole thing in his mouth.

Joy studied him. Sure, he was skinny, but so many other changes had occurred since Joy had known him well. His flat stomach might scream, I HAVE THE METABOLISM OF A HUMMINGBIRD, but his thinning hair, the lines around his mouth, his old jeans: these things screamed, I AM APPROACHING MIDDLE AGE!

“I thought you were doing well!” said Dustin, talking around the whoopie pie. “The place is always crowded. That’s what Mags said.”

Ugh, thought Joy. Don’t call her Mags. You don’t deserve to call her Mags. “It is doing well,” she said defensively. “But it’s not that simple. There’s some competition this summer . . .”

“That food truck?” said Dustin. “Mags told me about that. Sounds awesome!”

Joy thought, Shut up, Dustin. And stop saying awesome. You’re not a teenager. But she said, “And the rent on the building went up.” She tried to hold her voice steady. “It’s just hard to get ahead, that’s all.”

Dustin nodded with what Joy at first mistook for genuine sympathy. Then he said, “You know what, Joy? I wish I could help. I really do. She’s such a great kid.” (No thanks to you, thought Joy.)

“But,” said Joy.

“But. I just don’t have any extra right now, you know? Man, little kids are expensive. You wouldn’t believe it.”

“Oh, I would,” said Joy. She thought about the year Maggie turned six and had a growth spurt that caused her to outgrow all of her clothes in one winter. She thought about the year the roof leaked in the shop and she’d had to replace the mixer. She thought about the time three years ago when Pickles broke her leg and had to be treated by an off-island vet.

“And Sandy’s whole family is out in L.A., so plane tickets back and forth a few times a year, you know? It adds up. It really adds up. Sandy’s not working anymore, to be home for Tiki.”

“How nice for her,” said Joy. She squeezed the sentence out from between gritted teeth.

“So, man, I’m really sorry I can’t help in, like, a regular way, you know? I mean, I’ll do what I can, but I just can’t guarantee anything.” Dustin ate two more whoopie pies in rapid succession. “Hey, where do you think that food truck is today? It’s always in a different place, right?”

“Yes,” said Joy. “But I don’t know where it is today.” She actually did know, but she wasn’t telling.

“I’d love to bring back some of those cookies for Sandy and Teeks.” (Apparently Tiki was not enough of a nickname; it had to be further shortened.)

Joy’s phone, which she had set on the table, buzzed. Dustin glanced at it and said, “You have a contact named Bridezilla?”

Joy sighed. “It’s a long story.” She didn’t owe Dustin anything, not even an explanation. She let the call go to voice mail and she stood to indicate that she had many important matters to attend to. She knew that the next ferry back to Newport wasn’t for another ninety minutes and she didn’t want to be charged with babysitting her ex-husband. She had pies to make and Bridezillas to call back. Where, by the way, did Dustin come up with the money for an extra round-trip ferry ticket if he was so destitute?