She opened the slide show of the photos she had for her book so far, hoping for the energetic boost the project usually gave her, but the pictures looked ordinary this morning—the shot of the town hall, washed out; the mailbox shaped like a cow, blurry. Even Lucy’s scarecrow sagged. Discouraged, she exited the file and opened her e-mail. Oh good, one from [email protected]. She hadn’t heard from her in over a week. She smiled, readying herself for the laugh that Valeria never failed to provide.

“Just back from Venice. Opera, gondola ride, bought a gorgeous glass sculpture in Murano. Reservations for Christmas in Barcelona—estoy tan feliz!”

Allison wanted to ask what she should do about their sad sex life, but not wanting to bring down the mood, instead wrote, “Wow! You go!” and enthused about Italy and Spain. She preferred Valeria’s e-mails about petty civil servants and nasty shopkeepers, to be honest. Bad friend, she chided herself. Bad, bad friend. She ran her fingers over the keys, making them clatter like hail, then closed the lid of her laptop, escaping. The sight of Ted in the yard was enough to make her snap. “Plant it already!”

He looked up, surprised.

“I’m sorry. It’s just . . .” Just what? “Resume your vigil.”

“It’s not a vigil, Allison.”

“Whatever,” she said, sounding just like Jillian in a mood.

She made her way down the narrow stairs. Jillian was downstairs on the couch, reading, Candy lying on the rug beside her, belly up. “Want to take a walk, Jillie?”

“Nnnn.” Jillian turned a page.

“We could stop by Lucy’s for a snack.” The ultimate treat, the jump-up-and-down “Thank you, Mama!” thrill of Jillian’s childhood.

Jillian looked at her, a studiously patient expression on her face—one that Allison recognized, having doled it out herself so often. “I’m reading.”

Allison, who wanted a hug, but would have settled for a smile, nodded. She finally understood why some people had a second set of children when their first were nearly grown. She grabbed Candy’s leash and made kissing sounds. Candy rolled onto her feet and followed her out the door.

“Good dog! Yes you are!” She rubbed Candy’s muzzle until the dog whipped her entire backside back and forth with joy. Allison bent down to hug her. Candy—flea bitten, collarless—had followed Jillian home from school a few years before. Neglected hamsters and scrawny cats, too, had found a home with the Millers over the years. Allison was a soft touch; it was just her nature.