Helen wandered off to the backyard; that patch of earth was finally getting some use. It was a good thing Helen felt so at home in the unruly grass because it meant she wouldn’t have to listen to Gerald complain about having an animal in the house. Gerald had been outraged by Helen’s sudden appearance. He claimed, with good reason, that getting a pet should be a family decision and since he was part of the family (“the most important part, as I see it”) he should have been consulted. “Your father was doing a favor for a colleague,” Jane had told him. “The dog had nowhere else to go. You’ve heard of charitable acts, haven’t you.” “Yes,” Gerald had replied, and then added, uncannily Scrooge-like: “I’ve also heard of animal shelters.”

As Jane stood in the hallway examining the day’s mail, Sarah appeared from the living room and gave a theatrical gasp of surprise. “I didn’t see you drive up,” she rasped. “You were so late, I started worrying about you.”

Started drinking was, obviously, the more accurate way of putting it, given the gravel in her voice and the careful way she was forming her words. Whenever Sarah was looking after Gerald, wine bottles vanished from the shelves of the pantry. Jane would love to know what she did with the empties, probably walked the streets after midnight, dropping them into neighbors’ trash cans. “I had a dental appointment,” Jane said. “It’s right there on the list I left for you.”

Sarah grunted. “There’s so much on those lists I can barely keep track. I thought it was last week you were at the dentist, no?”

“No,” Jane said, making a mental note to drop the dentist excuse in the future. Sarah probably assumed Jane was having an affair, which she’d no doubt be quicker to forgive than something as positive and life-affirming as a shrink appointment. “I had a mammogram last week.”

Sarah reached up and adjusted her wig. She had a full head of beautiful white hair, but insisted on wearing a series of synthetic wigs that looked less like hair than your average winter hat and gave her the appearance of a haughty, slightly demented clown. The reason? “They’re real time-savers.” This from a woman who appeared to spend most of her precious free time peeking through her curtains with a telephone in one hand, reporting to someone on her daughter-in-law’s comings and goings. “So many doctors up here,” Sarah said. “I suppose I should have Tommy take me for a checkup before I go down to Beth’s.”

“You’re not feeling well?” Jane asked, refusing to look up from the mail.

Sarah snorted with indignation. “Believe me, if I weren’t feeling well, the doctor is the last place I’d go.”