“You can dance later, you heathens!” Edward says, turning back to the stove where something is ready to be taken off the burner and something else is ready to be added. I lean from the doorway and see that Valentina has gotten off the couch and is up on her toes, doing ballet moves as the others cheer. Anders from Norway gets up and lifts her tiny frame.

It takes me a moment to realize that Cali has frozen in place, her eyes staring into the middle distance. I put my wineglass down carefully, as though she might shatter if I make any sudden moves.

“Cali? Are you okay?” I put my fingertips lightly on her shoulder, and she jolts back to life.

“Yeah.” She shakes her head and tries to smile, but it slips from her. “I’m sorry, I . . . excuse me.”

Edward looks up from the stove as Cali pushes off and heads abruptly to the patio. “What happened?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

He looks anxiously at some delicately caramelizing onions. “Well, is she all right?”

Why is he asking me? I barely know Cali. Should I have some intuition here?

“I’ll go check on her.”

Cali is sitting on one of the pool chaises, staring into the glowing blue of the water beneath her.

“Cali?” I say. She turns to me and her eyes are shining. “I’m sorry,” I say. I hate it when someone catches me crying. “I can leave you alone. Or not.”

Her fingers meet her cheek and quickly whisk away a tear. She shrugs but smiles in a way that makes me think she’d like me to stay. I gingerly take a seat on the chaise next to her.

“You must think I’m a weirdo,” she says after a few moments.

“No.”

“That piece. I freaked out, I just . . .” Her voice catches.

“Well,” I say, feeling like I have to give her something if this is the moment we’re going to become friends. “Will it make you feel better to know that I had a panic attack when I was here on Saturday? I slept in the guest room after Edward gave me a horse tranquilizer. So whatever it is, no judgment.”

“That does actually make me feel better.”

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on? If you don’t, that’s okay.”

“I might as well. I keep trying to convince myself that I’m over it, but if I’m falling apart at a cello suite, then clearly I’m not. I know I didn’t tell you much about New York. I spent two years as a cellist with the Philharmonic and was on my way to becoming a principal. Truthfully, it was the only thing I ever wanted since I was a little girl.” For a moment, she’s lost in a reverie.

“What happened?”