“Cheers!” Vicki said. They clinked glasses. Brenda joined in reluctantly.

“Oh, stop being such a sourpuss,” Melanie said. “I got you something.”

“Me?” Brenda said.

Melanie pul ed the Hadley Pol et belt out of a smal shopping bag at her feet and handed it to Brenda. “For you,” she said.

“No . . . way!” Brenda said. Her expression was one Vicki remembered from childhood: She was excited, then suspicious. “What for? Why?”

“You wanted it,” Melanie said. “And I know I horned in on your summer with Vicki. The house is yours, too, and I’m grateful to you for letting me stay. And you’re taking such good care of Vicki and the kids. . . .” Melanie’s eyes were shining. “I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Brenda cast her eyes down. She wound the belt around her waist. “Wel , thank you.”

“That was real y thoughtful, Mel,” Vicki said.

Brenda narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure there’s not something else going on?”

“Something else?” Melanie said.

S omething else.

Later that afternoon, the phone rang in the cottage. Vicki was in bed, napping with Porter, and the phone woke her up. She was the only one home; Melanie had taken the Yukon to her doctor’s appointment, and Brenda had walked with Blaine to the swing set on Low Beach Road. The phone rang five, six, seven times, was silent for a minute, then started ringing again. Ted, Vicki thought. She climbed out of bed careful y, so as not to disturb Porter, and hurried through the living room for the phone.

“Hel o?”

There was silence. Somebody breathing. Then a young, female voice. “I know you’re sleeping with him.”

“Excuse me?” Vicki said.

“You’re sleeping with him!”

Careful y, quietly, Vicki replaced the receiver. For this she had gotten out of bed? She poured herself a glass of iced tea and repaired to the back deck, where she stretched out on a chaise longue. The sun was hot; she should go back inside and put on lotion, but she was so dopey from her nap that she indulged herself for a few minutes. She thought about the phone cal and laughed.

A little while later, the phone rang again. Vicki opened her eyes. Took a deep breath. She had been working hard on visualizing her lungs as two pink, spongy pil ows. She rose and went to the phone; she didn’t want it to wake up Porter. Though God knows if it was another wrong number, or the same wrong number, she would take the phone off the hook.

“Hel o?” She tried to convey impatience.

Silence. This was ridiculous! But then, a throat clearing. A man.

“Uh, Vicki?”

“Yes?”

“It’s Peter. Peter Patchen.”

“Peter Patchen.” Vicki couldn’t disguise her shock. “Wil wonders never cease.” You jerk, she thought. You coward.

“Uh, yeah. Listen, I realize you probably hate me . . .”

“To be honest, Peter, I haven’t given it that much thought.”

“Right. You’re busy with your own stuff, I get it. How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling fine, actual y.”

“Yeah, that’s what Ted told me. That’s great.”

Vicki didn’t want to discuss her wel -being or otherwise with Peter Patchen. But being on the phone with him made wheels turn in her mind.

Melanie had told Peter about the pregnancy; this Vicki knew, and while Vicki was glad it was now out in the open, she didn’t necessarily think Melanie should take Peter back right away.

“What can I do for you, Peter?” Vicki said.

“Wel , I was wondering if Melanie was around.”

“No,” Vicki said. “She’s out.”

“Out?”

“Out.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Would you like me to tel her you cal ed?” Vicki said.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “Tel her I cal ed. Tel her I miss her.”

Vicki rol ed her eyes. Yeah, you miss her now. Jerk! Coward! Stil , this was what Vicki wanted to see: Peter coming back on his hands and knees, groveling.

“I’l tel her,” Vicki said.

Later, when the Yukon pul ed up in front of the house, Vicki stepped out onto the flagstone path.

“I know what’s going on,” she said as Melanie got out of the car.

Melanie stared at Vicki; she had one hand resting on her bel y. Al the color drained from her face. “You do?”

“I do,” Vicki said. “Peter cal ed.”

Melanie looked at Vicki strangely. She undid the latch of the gate and stepped inside slowly and careful y, as though Vicki were holding a gun to her head. “He did?”

“He said he misses you.”

“He did? ” Now Melanie looked perplexed.

“He did. He cal ed, I told him you were out, he said, ‘Out?’ I said, ‘Out.’ He said to tel you he cal ed. He said, ‘Tel her I miss her.’”

Melanie shook her head. “Wow.”

“‘Wow’?” Vicki said. “‘Wow’? Yeah, wow. That’s right, wow. This is exactly what I said was going to happen. Didn’t I tel you he’d come around?”

“He only cares about the baby,” Melanie said.

“Maybe,” Vicki said. “But maybe not. Are you going to cal him back?”

“No,” Melanie said. “Not today.” She rubbed her bel y. “My hormones are al over the place, Vick. I don’t know what I want.”

“Right,” Vicki said. “I can understand that. I’l tel you what, it was weird having him cal .”

“Yeah, I’l bet.”

“In fact, I got two weird phone cal s this afternoon.”

“Who else?”

“Some girl,” Vicki said. “Some crazy girl. A wrong number.”

The longer Vicki felt good, the more frequently she wondered when the other shoe was going to drop. Could the worst be over? Vicki had three weeks of chemo left, then she would have another CT scan, the results of which would be sent to Dr. Garcia in Connecticut. If her lungs looked okay, if the tumor had shrunk, if it had receded from the chest wal , then Dr. Garcia would schedule the surgery. Now, because Vicki was feeling good, she al owed herself an occasional glimpse at herself after surgery: She pictured herself waking up in the recovery room, attached to an IV and five other machines. She imagined pain in her chest, soreness around the incision, she pictured herself bracing her body when she coughed or laughed or talked. Al this would be fine because she would have survived the surgery. She would be clean. Cancer-free.

Vicki felt so good for so many days that one night at dinner she mentioned she was thinking of letting Josh go.

“I can take care of the kids myself now,” she said. “I feel fine.”

Brenda made a face. “I promised Josh work for the whole summer. He quit his job at the airport for us.”

“And he has to go back to col ege,” Melanie said. “I’m sure he needs the money.”

“It’s not fair to fire him at the beginning of August just because you feel better,” Brenda said.

“I can’t real y imagine the rest of the summer without Josh,” Melanie said. She set down her ear of corn; her chin was shiny with butter. “And what about the kids? They’re attached.”

“They’re attached,” Brenda said.

“They’re attached,” Vicki conceded. “But would it devastate them if he stopped coming? Don’t you think they’d be happy to have me take them to the beach every day?”

“I promised him a summer of work, Vick,” Brenda said.

“I think the kids would be devastated,” Melanie said. “They love him.”

“They love him,” Brenda said.

“Do they love him, or do you guys love him?” Vicki said.

Brenda glowered; Melanie stood up from the table.

“Oh, who are we kidding?” Vicki said. “We al love him.”

The next day Vicki invited herself to the beach with Josh and the kids. Josh seemed happy to have her come along, though he might have been pretending for her sake.

“I can help out,” Vicki said.

“That’s fine,” Josh said.

“I know you guys have your own routine,” Vicki said. “I promise not to cramp your style.”

“Boss,” Josh said, “it’s fine. We’re happy to have you come with us. Right, Chiefy?”

Blaine locked his arms across his chest. “No girls al owed.”

Vicki ruffled his hair. “I’m not a girl,” she said. “I’m your mother.”

“This is where we usual y sit,” Josh said, dropping the umbrel a, the cooler, and the bag of toys in the sand. “As you can see we’re spitting distance from the lifeguard stand and close enough to wet sand that we can build sand castles.”

“And dig holes,” Blaine said.

Josh put up the umbrel a, laid out a blanket, and set Porter in the shade. Immediately, Porter grabbed the pole of the umbrel a and pul ed himself up.

“He normal y stands like that for five or ten minutes,” Josh said.

“Then he chews on the handle of the orange shovel,” Blaine said.

“Then he gets his snack,” Josh said.

“I see,” Vicki said. She had brought a chair for herself, which she unfolded in the sun. “You guys have it al figured out.”

“We’re al about routine,” Josh said, winking at Vicki. “We’re big fans of consistency and sameness.” He waved at a woman down the beach who had two little girls. “There’s Mrs. Brooks with Abby and Mariel. Blaine loves Abby.”

“I do not,” Blaine said.

“Oh, you do so,” Josh said. “Go ask her if she wants to dig with us.”

“Hey, Josh,” a man’s voice said. Vicki turned around. A tal , dark-skinned man with a little boy Blaine’s age and a baby girl in his arms waved as he moved down the beach.

“Omar, my man!” Josh said. Then to Vicki, he whispered, “That’s Omar Sherman. He brings the kids to the beach every morning while his wife talks to her patients on the phone. I guess she’s some hotshot psychiatrist in Chicago and deals with a bunch of complete basket cases.”

“Geez,” Vicki said. “You know everybody.”

She sat back and watched as Abby Brooks and Mateo Sherman helped Blaine and Josh dig a hole and then a tunnel in the sand. Porter stood holding on to the umbrel a pole, and then he tired out and plopped onto the blanket. He reached for his orange shovel and started chewing. Vicki watched al this with the distinct feeling that she was a visitor. Josh was 100 percent in control. At ten-thirty, he pul ed snacks from the cooler: a bottle of juice and box of raisins for Blaine, a graham cracker for Porter. Blaine and Porter sat on the blanket and ate neatly and without complaint, like a model of two children having a snack. Josh produced two plums from the cooler and handed one to Vicki.

“Oh,” she said. “Thank you.” She took a bite of the cold, sweet plum, and juice dripped down her chin. Josh handed her a napkin. “I feel like one of the children,” she said, wiping her face. Vicki liked this, but it made her feel guilty, too. Guilty and unnecessary. She was the children’s mother and they didn’t need her. No girls allowed. Josh was taking care of everything and everybody.

Josh sat on the blanket. Porter pul ed himself up to standing, holding on to the umbrel a pole in a way that reminded Vicki of an old man on the subway. Blaine had dutiful y col ected the trash from snack and walked it over to the barrel behind the lifeguard stand. “You’re a model citizen,” Josh said. Blaine saluted. He joined Abby a few yards down the beach, where they busily fil ed up buckets with sand and then water.

Vicki couldn’t believe she’d been thinking of letting Josh go. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “With us, I mean.”

“I like being here,” Josh said. “With you.”

“I don’t mean to embarrass you,” Vicki said. “Or get al serious on you.”

“You can be as serious as you want, Boss.”

“Okay, then,” Vicki said. “I don’t know what we would have done this summer without you.”

“You would have found someone else,” he said.

“But it wouldn’t have been the same.”

“Things happen for a reason,” Josh said. “I knew when I saw you coming off the plane . . .”

“When Melanie fel ?”

“Yeah, I knew then that something like this would happen.”

“Something like what? You knew you’d be our babysitter?”

“I knew our paths would cross.”

“You did not.”

“I did. First Brenda left the book behind, then I saw Melanie at the airport. . . .”

“She was trying to leave,” Vicki said.

“But I brought her back,” Josh said. “It’s like it was al part of some greater plan.”

“If you believe in a greater plan,” Vicki said.

“You don’t believe in a greater plan?” Josh said.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Vicki said. When she looked at the ocean, or at some smal er, more delicate perfection—like Porter’s ear, for example—it was hard to deny there was a force at work. But a plan into which everyone fit, a plan where everything happened for a reason? It was a convenient fal back. How many people in Vicki’s cancer support group had said they believed they got cancer for a reason? Almost everyone. But look at Alan