I’d exchanged texts with Elizabeth, the subtext of her words impossible to decipher. She wasn’t an emoji user, and her messages were precisely punctuated so that even an invitation to meet for lunch read like a mild reproof.

My morning walks hadn’t synced up with Rahmia either. I’d seen her and her son on their way to school, their hands clasped and Bibi dancing before them on her leash, but they’d all been too far away for more than a distant greeting.

But Lena had texted over and over—we’d hung out by her pool and gone to the nursery to get more plants for the beds Michael and Brady were building, and late every afternoon we walked together around the neighborhood, sometimes finishing with a dip in her pool. We talked nonstop. I’d learned that Brady had a background in engineering but preferred “being his own boss.” He ran a home improvement company with a fleet of vans, each stocked for a specific task: locksmith, HVAC, roofing, plumbing.

“So he’s like a contractor?” I asked on one of our walks. The air was thick with heat and humidity, and we’d followed the concrete sidewalk past the entrance to Bluebonnet Skies and were headed toward the elementary school.

“Pretty much, except he specializes in residential. Hey, let’s turn here.” And Lena veered to the right, following a branch of the sidewalk that took us under the power lines in an open space between the two brick walls that enclosed separate neighborhoods. “Those master builders are cheap as shit.”

“And he’s certified in all those things?”

“He’s certified in enough, and he fills in the gaps with other professionals, guys who don’t or can’t run their own businesses. I used to do the scheduling, but we’ve got it mostly automated now. My degree’s in accounting.”

At my expression, she burst out laughing. “I know, you didn’t see that one coming, did you? Everything in this world comes down to love or money, and I figured there was only one of those I could get certified in. Brady’s crap at planning. I handle all our books, I drew up the master lists for each van, and I set up our computer scheduling for employees and customers.”

“You’re a good team.” I wished Michael and I had something like a shared business, something concrete that I could point to and say, See, we were meant for each other.

“Damn straight. Brady has less than zero patience for the high-maintenance types we deal with like that-bitch-Sandy.” She pushed a damp curl away from her face. “Did I tell you now that we’ve redone the kitchen and that fucking backsplash three times, she’s trying to renegotiate the price? I swear, last week I spent more time in her damn house than mine.”