Not to say we didn’t have a full life of our own, apart from Jane. During the relatively short time I had known him, Carlo had started writing a book called Asterisks and Idols, which he tried to explain to me on several occasions with little success. With a couple of colleagues and the priest at the Episcopal church we sometimes attended, he was planning a graduate seminar on the interface of science and myth.

Nor was life only about religion. Tackling geology, we had hiked dozens of trails in the Catalina Mountains near our home, and there collected rocks; he could name each one.

But interest in five-billion-year-old rocks was five minutes ago, and Carlo had recently lifted his eyes to the heavens. No, not religion—astronomy. I liked taking peeks through his twelve-inch Celestron, an impressive reflecting telescope with a GPS system. Carlo would tower behind me with his hands on my hips and his chest pressing the back of my head, just to make sure I was in the right position for the viewfinder, he said. I can’t forget seeing the Orion Nebula while sandwiched between Carlo and infinity. That and the scent of Gillette aftershave.

Oh God, how I loved him!

Ahem: This is why I was so excited about the anniversary present I planned to give Carlo: a full overnight viewing at nearby Kitt Peak Observatory. Kitt was one of the ten largest observatories in the whole world, and it was only a two-hour drive from our house. In Arizona a two-hour drive is nothing. I planned to drop him off and pick him up the next day, so the gift would include chauffeur service.

I had just finished making the reservation online when the phone rang.

Gemma-Kate, my niece, Todd’s daughter, showed up as the ID. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to her just then, but when the rings went to the answering machine I heard her say, “Aunt Brigid, pick up the phone. I have an issue.”

This was the first time she had ever asked for my help. Shit.

I picked up the phone. I said, “Are you pregnant?”

“Did you really think I would come to you if I were pregnant?”

Oh snap, I think is what the kids say. “I suppose not,” I said, thinking of other possibilities. “You need me professionally? Did you assault some frat boy?”

“I take umbrage to that,” she said with a mild tone that didn’t match said umbrage.

“Don’t be coy. How bad did you hurt him?”

Now, one might think these assumptions a little insensitive, and that Gemma-Kate would rise up in shock, angry self-defense, what have you. That’s because you don’t know Gemma-Kate.