“What do you mean, you know?” said Joey.

“Scott?” said Leo.

“Daddy,” whispered Lily.

Scott closed his eyes and made a humming sound.

It was Tuesday. Tuesday was the worst day of the week. That’s what the old woman had told Joey all that time ago in Corfu, when she’d stood outside the synagogue waiting for her father. Then her last day with Leo was a Tuesday. Then her grandfather died on a Tuesday. Joey dug in her purse for her evil eye charm. Out came a peach lip gloss. Out came an empty Tic Tac container and a bunch of receipts she removed with her napkin because she’d read somewhere that touching them was basically akin to licking the floor of a Monsanto plant.

Where the hell was her evil eye charm? In fury, Joey threw her empty purse. She intended it to go far. At least to the potted cactus by the steps. Instead, the purse crumpled in unceremonious fashion to the ground by Joey’s feet.

“Oh, you’re upset, Joey?” said Lily. “Oh, really, you’re the one who gets to throw a tantrum?”

“You all get to tantrum.” Grant put a hand on Joey’s shoulder.

Her father continued to hum with his eyes shut, rocking back and forth like a crazy person.

“Scott.” Bea’s mouth opened and then closed. “Scott, I don’t—”

For a very long time, Joey watched her father with no pity, no pity at all.

“Someone needs to tell me what is going on!” said Lily.

As Scott buried his face in his hands, Bea walked Lily through the highlights. Meeting Rand in the early eighties. Harry Berry. The letters G hid. The reunion in Monterey. The Corfu plan. The feigned spontaneous meeting in the building on Delvinioti Street. The families becoming family. Lily’s Place. The day Bea realized she was pregnant. An education on fertility windows. Welcome to the world, Lily Pad. Those blue eyes. Those blue eyes locked on your father—on Scott—and fell in love. I—we—couldn’t take him from you. Leo found out. We stopped going to Corfu. Joey found out last week. The End.

“I can’t believe it.” Lily crunched down on her lip. “I just…”

Joey forced the word out: “Dad?”

Her father coughed a few times. Finally, he said, “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t get it, Dad. You knew?”

“I knew.” Her father sat down on the lawn, even though it had rained earlier. He began plucking up clumps of wet grass.

“You knew how, Scott?” said Bea. “You figured it out what, when we stopped going to Corfu?”

Crickets. Then “Earlier.”

“When Lily was born? You knew when Lily was born, and you didn’t say?”

The moon materialized, like a wedge of peach with a mushy center. The mosquitoes converged on Joey’s right foot. She scratched her ankle so violently that it began to bleed.