That was okay, she told herself. Everybody deserves a vacation once in a while, and hers was about to end. It was Friday. There hadn’t been any incidents since last Sunday, and the police were talking about ending her round-the-clock protection tomorrow. Tomorrow was also the day her parents were due to arrive home.

By this time tomorrow night she’d be alone in her town house. Her life would be back to normal. She’d buckle down to work, complete her dissertation, and finish up her internship at the nursing home. Then what? She didn’t know. She didn’t want to think about it. When she tried to imagine her life beyond her thesis, her mind went blank. She imagined thirty years of counseling the elderly on problems that were largely unsolvable. In the past two months three patients she’d come to love had died. There would be more in the future. Lots more. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and bowed her head.

Steve came to her side. “Something wrong?”

“Smog,” she said, blinking to clear eyes that were smarting with tears.

He didn’t believe her, but he let it go. He’d learned he couldn’t force her to discuss her problems. After the amusement-park confession she’d closed up tight, keeping all her hurt and confusion locked away inside. Head-inthe-sand syndrome, he thought. Besides, it could very well be smog. The air quality wasn’t all that great. Washington emptied out early on Fridays in the summer. By six o’clock the acrid yellow smog caused by traffic settled in the humid air and was replaced by a more savory cloud rising from hundreds of thousands of suburban barbecues. The mesquite haze hanging over Northern Virginia backyards smelled better, but it caught you in the back of the throat all the same.

Steve stood at his grill, ready to make his Friday-night contribution to air pollution. He struck a match and adjusted the gas jets. He watched the lava rocks heat. At the appropriate moment he deposited his hamburger patties on the grill and stepped back. There was a giant whoosh of flame, the hamburger patties were instantly incinerated into ash, and the fire returned to normal intensity.

Kevin made a disgusted noise, Daisy shook her head in disbelief, and Elsie stepped forward to get a closer look at the hamburger cinders.

“I haven’t never seen you cook an edible hamburger yet on this thing,” Elsie said to Steve. “If it was me, I would’ve given up long ago.”

Steve took the spatula with the extralong redwood handle, the spatula he’d bought especially for his barbecue, and threw it into his neighbor’s yard.

“Feel better?” Daisy asked.

He gave her a sheepish grin. “Yup. What do you say we all pile in the car and go buy some burgers?”