Now, at last, Poppy was coming home, and Ann worried about the ways in which their spirits would mingle. Ann couldn’t quite forgive her for being gone so long, and Ann was especially hurt when she couldn’t reach Poppy after their parents had died. She’d never felt more alone in her life than she’d felt that horrible week, trying to stay strong for Noah while making arrangements with the crematorium, dealing with insurance, searching for the will, meeting with lawyers, sending notices to their creditors and banks, writing “DECEASED” on the mail that arrived and popping it back in the mailbox, unread. She was about to turn thirty-five and felt too young to lose both of her parents, too young to go to bed alone every night. She’d broken up with her only long-term boyfriend, Kevin, an investment analyst she’d met through friends. He was perfectly nice. Too nice. The kind of guy who wears tennis shoes with suit pants. Noah didn’t like him. “He calls me ‘pal,’” he’d said. “He gets excited about eating leftovers. He calls them ‘LOs.’” Kevin was eating leftovers with a new wife now and living in Newton, with twins on the way. Ann’s lack of jealousy confirmed that she’d made a good decision, although sometimes she wondered if she was getting too old to expect more from a romantic partner.

Now, all these years later, Noah couldn’t wait to spend time with his aunt. He’d always wished they had a bigger family, more siblings, aunts and uncles, cousins, pets. At school, he tried to create that whirlwind of people and activity that he craved. He was incredibly social, the kid who volunteered as a math tutor, competed in forensics, organized a zine fest for the other students who were also into graphic novels. He’d even started a student film festival with two other high schools, and was interviewed by the television station. Noah was everyone’s friend. They didn’t care that he was on the heavy side, or that he wore mismatched vintage clothes from resale shops that somehow worked on him—argyle sweaters with tweed jodhpurs and black cowboy boots—and had painted nails and a shock of long bangs that he’d bleached and dyed purple, red, pink, blue. He was ambiguous about his sexuality. Ann didn’t push. He seemed happy. At home, he’d befriended all the elderly people in their apartment complex. He took out their trash and picked up essentials for them at the store. Mary O’Grady in 3B was teaching him how to play bridge so he could fill in as her bridge partner, and he’d helped newly widowed Martin Cox set up a profile on a senior dating service.