All the salt was gone from the rim of my glass. I was ready for a refill, but I didn’t want to stand up. Leaning back on my elbows, I could see a few stars above the haze of neighborhood lights. The air stirred, warm on my neck but cool where Michael had splashed me on his way past. Up north this time of year, I might have sensed a slight chill of autumn after the sun went down. A few trees might show the first signs of changing color, but here in Texas, it was swimming pools and margaritas.

“You look comfortable.” Lena had come out without me even noticing. Michael probably wasn’t the only one who was buzzed. Good thing we didn’t need to drive home. The thought struck me as funny, and Lena smiled back at me as she picked up my glass and refilled it.

She sat down beside me, her hair slipping free from its ponytail. She pulled it loose, shaking her head, and I remembered wanting to ask her about the previous owner of the house. I started with, “Sandy—”

With the hair elastic in her teeth and one hand holding her hair in place, Lena said, “That bitch.”

I stopped, startled, as she wrapped the band around a ponytail from which wiry strands still escaped. Then she said, “Sorry, that’s just how I think of her in my mind. That-bitch-Sandy. What about her?”

“She said somebody died in my house and it was kind of gruesome.”

“Please. Any excuse for drama. You want me to spit in her iced tea?”

I must have looked confused, because she laughed again, the sound rolling across the backyard. “Brady’s heading back to her place tomorrow. She designed her own tile backsplash, and now she hates it. Just hates it. But somehow it’s our fault for not pointing her in a different direction. Which—news flash—I did, but she didn’t listen. It’s the great custom light installation fiasco of last year all over again. Dumb and mean is a bad combination. I swear, if she gives us grief about the payment, I’m cutting her off.”

“So she was lying about my house?”

“Yeah, the former owner died, but he was old. No big deal.”

The lime from my margarita puckered the back of my throat, but I asked, “What was he like?”

“How do you mean?”

“Did you ever see him?”

“He was fine. Kind of a pain about us bringing our trash bins in on time and leaving work vans in the driveway. But once one of our packages was misdelivered, and he brought it over. Not real friendly, but whatever.”

Watching our feet slow-kicking back and forth in the water, I found Sandy’s malice, our house’s history, and even my own past blurring. What did it matter? I had nothing to worry about. This moment was enough. It was perfect.