Olivia put out ham sandwiches and cucumber salad for lunch, thinking about the crystal pitcher. It had been a wedding present to her parents. Served her right for using it so casually. She was such a vague, careless person—that was why she lost everything. Everything and everyone. She wondered what a new pitcher would cost, and her thoughts wandered to her wealthy neighbors to the east, who must have cabinets full of crystal, but none so nice.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, remembering. “Polly Palacio invited us all over for a barbecue tonight.”

“She did?” Hull asked, astonished.

“I ran into her in the grocery store. She seemed so happy to see me, I wondered if she thought I was someone else.”

“She knows exactly who you are,” he said.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, it’s obvious. George Palacio’s father was our parents’ gardener.”

“So what?”

“So you think it’s an accident that when George hits the big time, he comes back to the Vineyard and buys the house next door to us?”

“I have no idea,” said Olivia, waving her hand equivocally. “I just thought it would be nice for Lara. Lara, would you like to go to the Palacios’ party?” She looked over at her daughter, who was staring at a random point on the table, slack-jawed. “Lara, honey,” Olivia ventured. “Are you okay?”

“Hm? Yes,” said the girl. “I was just thinking.” The accident with the table outside had been caused by Lara’s new body. Her big new butt had smacked against it and knocked it over and broken the pitcher and ruined the cake. She didn’t know where she began and ended anymore. She considered how weird it was that people had bodies at all, and how the whole physical, living world was kind of unnecessary.

“What were you thinking about?” asked Hull.

“I was thinking,” said Lara, straining to put her ideas and feelings into words, “how most people who’ve ever existed are either dead or not born yet. That’s our normal condition, not having bodies. The living are the exception. And yet, we’re all afraid of dying.”

Olivia and Hull watched her.

“What I mean is,” Lara continued recklessly, her round cheeks flushed from the sun, strands of her thick, white-blond hair glued to her forehead, “if death is the normal state of things, maybe we should stop making such a big deal about it.”

“You’re right,” Olivia said softly, her eyes filling with tears. “I’ve never thought of it that way before. The living are the exception.”

Lara observed her mother as two large tears traveled down Olivia’s cheeks and she wiped them away with a trembling hand.

“You’re so damn profound, Lara,” said Hull, reddening, “but sometimes you’re also stupid.”

Lara stared at her uncle.