“… that will soon be sold to strangers.” Noah made a face at Ann.

“OK,” said Poppy. “Here’s to being together again.”

The puzzle was so old that the cardboard rose like phyllo dough and the photograph was peeling off the pieces. Without discussion, the sisters began to divide up the land and sky and started with the edges, the way they always had. It was like muscle memory. Noah pulled up a chair and sat between Poppy and Brad. Ann felt outnumbered.

“You do the lighthouse,” Poppy said.

“Oh sure, give me the hard part.”

Poppy tousled Noah’s thick, brown hair, and Noah’s face lit with a smile of satisfaction that both pleased and angered Ann. She wanted to say to her son, “You hardly know her! Or Brad!” But she held herself back, because even if she was upset with Poppy, she wanted Noah to have a decent relationship with her. She was all the family she had left.

Ann looked at the clock on the wall. The battery was dead, and the hands had frozen in place at 2:34. “When is your guest coming?”

Brad and Poppy looked at each other, an inside look. “Wasn’t he supposed to be here ten minutes ago?”

“What’s going on?” Ann asked. The room was filled with energy.

“Nothing,” Poppy said. “I’ve got the corners.”

They got to work on the puzzle as if its completion really mattered. Noah snuck sips of Ann’s wine so he’d look cool for Poppy. Ann didn’t mind, not really. He was sixteen. Who knew? Maybe Poppy had gotten him drunk or high when they spent the last few weekends alone together. Now they had shared secrets and inside jokes.

Noah propped his chin on his cast. Ann noticed that Poppy still bit her lip when she concentrated. She had to admit that Poppy was kind of adorable. Ann found the familiarity of her gestures oddly endearing, and somehow reassuring. Brad was also staring at Poppy. Oh man, he had it bad, poor sucker. Didn’t he know Poppy would desert him, just like she had deserted everything—and everyone?

The wine and physical exhaustion set in. Ann allowed herself to relax. The soft rain on the windows and the flickering candlelight made the space feel intimate, like it was the only place in the world that mattered. She allowed herself to imagine that she and Poppy were kids again, and that it was Michael instead of Noah who sat at the kitchen table, and their parents were sitting next to each other in their respective spots on the couch in the next room, their reading glasses perched on the ends of their noses, her mother intent on a book, her father’s head tipped back, asleep, a gentle snore.

Ann put her hand over Noah’s. “You used to call her Puppy.” Ann gestured to her sister. “Do you remember that?”

“I did?”