Adam broke free from Suzanne’s embrace, assaulting Grant when he and Allison returned. “Daddy, push me!” Soon the men were on the lawn, pushing the kids on the swing, Adam on Jillian’s lap. Adam laughed, his scarf waving behind him like a young Amelia Earhart.

“What’s wrong?” Allison asked Suzanne.

“Things aren’t going as planned,” Suzanne said.

“What things?”

“My life. My life is not going according to plan.”

Allison laughed. Her cheeks were high and round, like ripe peaches, making it look as though her eyes were closed when she smiled. “Does it ever?”

Yes! Suzanne wanted to say. It does! It must! “I’m screwed.”

“Why?”

“Half-day kindergarten. Three measly hours—which basically means I’m a full-time mom. I have a business to attend to. I can’t spend my days making cookies.” Allison’s eyelid ticked, just enough for Suzanne to realize she’d insulted her. “I mean—”

“I’m a photographer,” Allison said, a beat too quickly.

“Oh! Should I have heard of you?”

“I don’t know. Should I have heard of you?”

They caught eyes, then both of them looked away at the same time, into the yard, where Grant was pushing the kids up to the heavens.

“Hold on tight,” Suzanne said, wanting to tiptoe back through the conversation, to the moment before she put her foot in her mouth. No wonder she didn’t have any friends.

“How about first grade? He’s so bright. Have you thought about him skipping a grade?” Allison said.

“They don’t recommend it.”

“Who are they?”

“You know. Them.” She moved her arm around in the air. “The ones who write the books and articles.”

“Are ‘they’ going to pay the psych bills when you go crazy from a surfeit of cookie baking?” She smiled, forgiving Suzanne her gaffe.

Suzanne smiled back. She allowed herself a fantasy: Adam at school every day till three, getting so much intellectual stimulation he’d nap all afternoon, letting her work. “Hm.”

“Mmm,” Allison echoed. “Listen to that.”

“What?”

“Silence. Do you hear that? The silence between the songs. It’s like the white space on the page.”

Suzanne wasn’t sure what she meant, but it sounded nice. The white space. Was it about seeing positives where there were negatives? Or vice versa? She took a cookie from the tray. “I like your shawl,” she said, fingering the fringe.

“I made it. I have a loom.”

“You made it? All I make are appointments.”

Allison laughed.

“What made you think my mother died?” Ted was asking Grant when they came back to the table.

“Nina Strauss told us. When we saw you in the road the day we were house hunting,” Grant said.

“Nina!” Ted and Allison said, as one. “You can’t trust Nina.”

“My mother died before Jillian was born . . . ,” Ted said.

Grant and Suzanne looked at each other, Suzanne wondering what else Nina had lied about.