“Tell me, they got a different calendar down there in Georgia? A different number of days, or maybe in a different order? I only ask because my calendar here, the one cousin Benny sent me from Florida, that calendar says today is Monday, July third. Which means—up here in Jersey, anyway—that yesterday was Sunday. And I got this idea, call it crazy, but I got the idea that yesterday was Sunday where you are, too, because this beauty-ful Florida calendar says so, and Florida is south of where you find yourself at this point in time. And the last I checked, time zones run east to west, not north to south. Am I right?”

Angie grimaced at Tony, who shrugged dramatically. “Sorry, Dad. Things got busy yesterday.”

“Angie, this is your mother on the other line. You’ve got my permission to ignore your father. He misses you, but that’s no excuse for bad manners, Tommy. Now, tell me, how is work going? How’s Rivera?”

“Good, we’re all good, everything’s good.” Angie shot a look across the room to Rivera, who was scowling at the screen of her cell phone. She might have said, Rivera seems to be in love with a woman who just ran off to a nunnery. Her mother took an academic interest in Rivera’s love life and would certainly be intrigued by this newest chapter, but now was not the time for a lesson in modern-day lesbian mating rituals.

“Tony got himself in trouble yet?” Angie’s father yelled.

“Oh, yeah,” Angie said. “I’ll let him tell you about it.” And she handed the phone back to Tony, who performed, as he always did when pressed. While he related the story of the rumble in the park, Angie went into the kitchen and got herself a glass of water. Rivera followed her in, and they stood there together in the dim cool listening to Tony, who paced up and down with the phone under one arm, the unlit cigarette in the corner of his mouth jerking as he talked.

“We’ve got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow. We should get some sleep.” Rivera said this flatly.

From the other room Tony called, “Your father wants to know what you two put in your picnic baskets.”

“Lasagna in mine, cannelloni in Rivera’s,” Angie called back.

Rivera snorted a laugh.

“Oh, like I can tell Tommy Apples what southerners eat. He’d be on the next plane.”

“Your mother says it sounds like a slave auction,” Tony shouted.

“Tell her enough with the old Roots tapes, they’ve made some good movies in the last twenty years.”

Rivera produced a giggle like a burp and then they were both laughing in near hysterics, covering their mouths and bent over double. Finally Angie caught her breath. She said, “Did you have any idea Caroline was going to do this?”