The natural rhapsody of oak and bay laurel, black mustard and sage scrub trilled alongside them as they made their way up to the top of the ridge. The estate backed onto the Santa Monica Mountains National Recreational Area, which must have been why Ted bought it, for the promise that no future neighbor could stake a claim on the protected space above him. When it rained in the spring, the chaparral probably turned a deep chartreuse, but today the colors were parched, dusty green, pale brown.

“Oh shoot,” James said. “Your dress.”

“I’m okay,” Phoebe said, lifting up her skirt. “Let’s walk.”

Phoebe felt eerily, unexpectedly great. In facing Ted, she’d released something that had been bottled up inside her for years, a resentment that had been eating her alive. Now that it was out, she felt positively roomy. Maybe she’d plant a garden next spring. She’d always wanted one, and there was that barren strip of dirt in the side yard. If she started a compost pile when she got home, would that give her enough time to bring the soil back to life? She would ask Umma and Apa. They would know. Phoebe wanted lots of vegetables—greens she could pick each night to make a salad, towering tomato plants, carrots and potatoes growing fat under the earth.

“Do you have a vegetable garden, James?” she asked.

James glanced at her. “What? No. Do you?”

“No. But I should, shouldn’t I?”

“If you want a garden, then you should have one.”

“Yeah. I think so, too. I really do. God, how’ve you been, James?” she asked.

“Good, good.”

“Catch me up.”

“Well. I got married, had a family. Got my series 7 license. Thought I might go into I-banking, but...well, I’ve got too many people depending on me to just up and start over.”

“Any company would be lucky to have you.”

James cocked his head, sloughing off the compliment.

“Tell me about your family,” Phoebe said.

“My wife and I went to high school together. Reconnected not long after...you left. Three kids—Sidney, Kyra, and Jayson.”

“Wow. James Washington is a freaking dad.”

Her heel slipped on a pebble and she wobbled. He reached to steady her. Those wrists. He’d changed so much, and not at all. She smiled.

“And you’re a teacher,” James said, equally astonished.

“I’m a teacher.”

“What subject?”

“English.”

“I wish Sidney was in your class. She hates writing papers. Says it’s pointless.”

“She’d hate my class, then.”

“But she’d learn. I bet at the end of the year, half your students are in love with you.”

Phoebe laughed. “I don’t think so.”

“You just can’t see it.”