But now, thanks to twelve-year-old Martin Hendy, who I believe discovered his calling that day, I didn’t have to. All I had to do was nurse my beer and make inconsequential chit-chat with the neighbours as Jessica and Kelli entertained one another.

“Round and round the garden —”

After the tenth or so rounding of the garden, I decided to get another beer. “Ok,” I said to Jessica. “So you realize that’s basically going to be your job for the rest of the afternoon?”

Jessica smiled at me. “We’ll see who gets tired of it first.”

I went inside thinking about how content Kelli and Jessica made each other. When she wasn’t driving you crazy, Kelli’s presence could have a calming effect. It wasn’t just her rhythmic whispering and murmuring, although that could be very soothing. It was a quality I could only think to describe as her companionability. She comforted you with her presence. My mother had the power to make people feel kind — reassured that the world was a decent place and that they, therefore, must be decent too. But Kelli could make you feel less alone.

When I came out with the beer, Trevor was with them, standing very close to Kelli’s chair, as if he had just stood up after leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. Jessica was squinting up at Trevor, shielding her eyes from the sunlight, smiling in the vague, expectant way you do when you meet a friendly person who acts like they belong, but you haven’t yet learned how.

“Karie-that-weight!” he announced when he spotted me.

It was nice to see him again, even though I had been vaguely hoping I wouldn’t after our conversation in the kitchen. Kelli, needless to say, was rocking with happiness and muttering a stream of blissful Trebies. She had missed him, I knew then — of course she had. Impulsively, I handed Trevor the beer I had brought out for myself.

“Ah, now it’s a yard sale,” said Trevor, cracking it.

He told us he’d seen one of the flyers I’d tacked up at Superstore and thought he’d swing by to say hello. He seemed cheerful, if a bit reserved, but he stood chatting with us after I’d introduced him, like any other friendly neighbour. It had been a week since I’d cut back home care, and to my relief there didn’t seem to be any hard feelings that I could discern. Trevor, after all, had never been one to disguise his feelings. There were a couple of folding deck chairs nearby and I offered to unfold one so Trevor could join us, but he declined. He was standing spread-legged with a hand on his hip and I got the impression he was enjoying being on display like that, fully unfurled for our benefit. He was, he said, “Having a Saturday on the town with the boyo,” and gestured across the lawn to where Mike was lingering at a table of books and porcelain knick-knacks, watching with undisguised awe as Martin Hendy worked a customer.