She typed back, Thanks! I’m sure I will!

At the Griffins’ house, after Sherri departed for work, Alexa made some small talk with Katie. She couldn’t go right for the notebook. She asked Katie if she was hungry or if she wanted to walk over to Kent Street playground, which was not far away. But Katie gave her a baffled look and declined.

“I don’t really do playgrounds anymore?” she said.

“Of course not,” said Alexa. Katie and Morgan were at that in-between age: too old to use playgrounds seriously, too young to use them ironically, the way the high school kids sometimes did, swinging in the dark of night with their vape pens or their edibles.

Alexa tried again. Did Katie want to walk down to the waterfront or go for ice cream at Haley’s? They could get to Haley’s via the rail trail.

“I’m good,” said Katie, her face placid. Alexa’s mother hated when people said I’m good—she considered it a non-answer kind of answer—so both Morgan and Alexa had been conditioned not to say it. But Alexa believed in free speech within the walls of one’s own home so she just nodded. “I’m reading,” Katie added. She held up Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. Alexa recognized the book as her own copy, the one she’d handed down to Morgan, because of the jagged tear in the cover. Katie was reading the first of the series, the one where Tibby meets the girl who has cancer. Alexa loved those books when she was in middle school; she had hoped that her own female friendships would turn out to be as sustaining, as reliable and life-affirming and, well, fun, as those of Tibby, Bridget, Lena, and Carmen, but, alas, Destiny and Caitlin simply didn’t seem to have what it took.

“Okay,” said Alexa. “If you need me, just holler. I’ll be around.” Katie went back to her book and Alexa clattered around in the kitchen for a few minutes, for show, in case Katie was listening. She inspected the contents of the refrigerator (disappointing) and the cupboards (barren). She looked for the liquor cabinet (nonexistent).

There was a copy of the Newburyport Daily News on the counter, and on the front page was one of those advertising stickers with an ad for Canobie Lake Park, the amusement park not far away in Salem, New Hampshire. As a kid Alexa loved Canobie—it was small enough that she used to be allowed to go off with friends (back when she had friends), and big enough that some of the rides were legitimately scary. In the past few years they’d put in a new roller coaster, Untamed, and Alexa hadn’t tried it yet.