New York, that was the bite I heard in his accent. Boone had been the second husband, I knew. The son must have some other, given, name, but I guessed no one was likely to explain anything else to me. I took my seat and Ed poured me a glass of white wine. I was trying to measure the resemblance between mother and son without staring. They both did and didn’t look alike. Both had wide, handsome faces, but his features were notably leaner, less balanced, and his eyes were brown, not her amazing blue. He had dark hair cut short and he wore a button-down shirt, suit pants, and brogues. An unremarkable outfit, except in Marin, where everything seemed to be some version of playclothes.

Viridian said, “How nice that you’re here during a spell of such good weather.”

“I thought the weather was always good here,” Boone said. He regarded the antipasti without much enthusiasm, then speared an artichoke heart with a fork. I figured he might be in his late thirties, but that was just a guess.

Ed said, “When we get a lot of rain in the winter, that’s not so great.”

Boone shrugged. “Rain, sure.”

“Are you visiting for long?” I asked.

“Hard to say. Work, you know.” I thought he’d been almost flirting with me when he arrived, but now he seemed unfriendly. Something sullen had settled over the whole group.

“You mean, for much longer,” Viridian said.

“It’s a little open-ended right now.”

I might have asked what kind of work he did. Or how he knew Ed, or why he wasn’t staying at Viridian’s house. But all conversation seemed to have been strangled.

Ed tried again to rally us. “Have you talked to Doug?” he asked me. “You should give him a call. He might need to ask you some things about the issue.” Then, turning to Boone: “Carla’s been working on Compass Points.”

“Ah,” said Boone. He nodded, as if this confirmed some dark suspicion he had about me.

“I’m kind of a subintern.”

Viridian said, “I can’t imagine you’re not doing a fine job.”

“Thank you,” I said. It worked out to a compliment, I was pretty sure.

Ed said, “An awful lot of effort goes into the issues. I’ve seen it up close and personal. It’s not just artistic temperament that makes the wheels spin.”

“I never know what people mean by that,” Viridian said. “‘Artistic temperament.’”

“Really,” Boone said.

No one had a response to that. We sat in careful silence. Then it occurred to me that the rest of them were waiting for me to leave.

I stood up and said how nice it was to meet you, and thanks for the wine. Nobody tried to stop me, though Ed said, “I’ll tell Doug you’ll call.”