I wanted to ask if they were living together. As she leaned against the doorjamb, her hand resting on her hip, I took a quick glance to see if an engagement ring decorated her finger, but I saw nothing.

“I don’t know where he is, Ryan,” she said. Sam usually spoke in a precise manner, her thoughts measured and orderly. But when I arrived at the house that night, she rambled a bit, her thoughts jumping from one to another without any noticeable connective tissue. “He was supposed to work late. And he needs to buy his mom a birthday present. Did you hear he stopped drinking?”

“I heard.”

“Were you supposed to meet him or something?”

“Kind of.”

Samantha remained in the doorway. She worked as a kindergarten teacher at a public school, and she always carried herself with the determined enthusiasm and peppiness that job no doubt required. It was too easy for me to joke—but I did anyway—that she was the perfect woman for Blake since she worked with five-year-olds all day.

But that night a measure of her usual easygoing cheer and ready smile was absent. She looked like I’d interrupted her in the middle of something. I knew she tended to work late, preparing lesson plans and classroom projects. Or maybe I’d rung the bell while she was starting to doze off. She rubbed at her eye absentmindedly, a gesture that made her look like a small child.

“Okay,” I said. “Well, can you tell him I came by?”

She stepped back then. “I’m sorry. Why don’t you come in? I was just—I was surprised when I heard the bell ring. I didn’t know what was going on. I have to work tomorrow, of course, and I was organizing some things upstairs. But I guess you have to work too. By the way, how’s Henry?”

“Am I interrupting your work?”

“No, it’s okay. My mind is just . . . It’s got a lot going on.”

She talked as she walked back into the house, leaving the door open, so I followed her. She went into the living room and turned on two lamps, which cast soft light over the space, and then she took a seat on the couch. I followed her in, feeling a nervous energy urging me on.

“He’s good,” I said. “Getting bigger every day. And now his teeth are coming in.”

“I love all the photos you post. You’re so good at it. I feel like a failure at that kind of stuff. Maybe I can take a class or something. And Blake’s no help. You know he refuses to do any of that.”

It hit me I hadn’t said anything about the wedding.

“Oh,” I said, “Blake told me the good news. Congratulations.”