"I'll sleep on the cot," Rosie said. "My legs are the shortest."

"I don't want to be pessimistic here," Tess said, "but it could be Annalisa's last trip."

I waited till we'd made our way through the opening in the seawall and onto the beach. A perfect little family-mother, father, cute toddler girl, and cute toddler boy-were already camped out with beach chairs and coolers, the kids digging in the sand with little plastic shovels.

"Here's the thing," I said. "Even if we overlook the obvious question of why she'd want to go on vacation with three women she doesn't know, she's having radiation and and chemo. She can't just pack up and leave." chemo. She can't just pack up and leave."

"I'm sure they give her the weekends off," Rosie said. "It's not like she'd be gone for more than a few days."

"But she doesn't feel well," I said. "I'm sure the last thing she needs is a plane ride."

"You don't know that," Tess said. "And just to set the record straight, I do do know her. We have an established e-mail relationship." know her. We have an established e-mail relationship."

"Okay, invite her," I said. "Can you e-mail her through the care site?"

"I already did," Tess said.

"Good," Rosie said.

We walked the rest of the beach in silence.

When we got back out to the parking lot, Tess stopped to tie one of her lavender laces. I watched a seagull soar through the blue, cloudless sky.

"Kind of puts your own stupid stuff in perspective, doesn't it?" Tess said.

THE SMELL OF fresh-baked lavender scones greeted me as I opened my front door. I'd almost managed to forget about my mother. fresh-baked lavender scones greeted me as I opened my front door. I'd almost managed to forget about my mother.

"You'd better get a move on," she yelled from the kitchen, "or you'll be late for work. And make sure you shut that door behind you. We don't want a repeat of yesterday."

I closed my eyes. I could feel a headache creeping its way across my left temple. "I took the rest of the week off," I yelled. Surely my sister would be back to get her by the weekend. Or I could drive to Hyannis and drop her off at the Nantucket ferry, or maybe even take the ride over with her and stay for a visit. Like for an hour or two. Nothing against my sister, but I just didn't really feel like talking to anyone who might possibly ask questions. At least until I got my life back on track again.

My mother poked her head out from the kitchen. "You didn't have to do that just for me, honey."

"I wanted to, Mom," I said. It was kind of true. If I had been working, and my mother had been considerate enough to warn me that she was coming, I really might have wanted to take a few days off to spend them with her.

My mother came over and gave me a little peck on the cheek. "Well, then," she said, "you can help me cook. Come sit and have a nice scone, while we decide what to make for dinner to impress that fellow of yours."

"Who?" I said.

"Oh, you," my mother said. "Such a kidder. You get that from your father, you know."

I wondered if I could track down the window sales guy who'd called, and if so, whether my mother would catch on if he spent the entire dinner trying to sell us vinyl replacement windows that tilted out for easy cleaning.

"Too bad," I said. "Wouldn't you know he's away on business all week. He'll be so sorry when I tell him."

I walked into my kitchen and peeked out the window. My mother had already discovered my clothesline. She seemed to be systematically washing the contents of both suitcases and hanging them out to dry in my yard. My mother had some surprisingly racy underwear for a woman her age, I thought. Maybe it was a Florida thing.

Even though I'd just mowed it yesterday, I was fighting the urge to mow my lawn again, just to get out of the house. I wondered if it were possible to become addicted to lawn mowing.

My mother followed me into my kitchen. "I think we'll make coq au vin anyway," she said. She popped two scones onto plates, and placed them on my little kitchen table.

I picked one up and took a bite. "Mmm. This scone is amazing. Chicken in wine, right?"

My mother filled my laundry basket with another load of wet clothes. "Mais oui. Your father loved coq au vin. It was our romantic dinner. We'd wait until all of you were in bed and light some candles...."

"Sure," I said quickly, hoping to steer her away from an over-share. "Feed us tuna noodle casserole and save the good stuff for yourself."

"Since you've got the day off, you can do the shopping," my mother said. "Write this down."

I opened a drawer and pulled out a little pad of paper and a pen. I leaned back against the kitchen counter.

"Two small chickens, thick-sliced bacon, baby carrots, mushrooms, pearl onions, garlic, chicken broth, bay leaves, thyme, olive oil, salad greens, and a baguette. Oh, and don't forget, we'll need two nice bottles of red wine, one for us and one for the chickens."

"Don't say that too loud in this neighborhood," I said.

THE DOORBELL RANG at six o'clock on the dot. "Can you get that, honey?" my mother yelled. at six o'clock on the dot. "Can you get that, honey?" my mother yelled.

Rosie's dad was standing on my doorstep, wearing a crisp, button-down shirt and holding a big bouquet of lavender.

My mother came up beside me. "Come in, come in, Kent. Aren't you the sweetest man in the world. First you rescue a damsel in distress, and now you bring her flowers."

Kent Stockton stepped into my hallway and gave my mother the bouquet.

"Am I missing something?" I asked.

My mother handed me the lavender. "Can you find a nice vase for these, honey, and give the coq au vin a little stir while you're in the kitchen? Oh, and you can get us a drink, too. Is red wine fine for you, Kent? It will complement our dinner."

"Lovely," Rosie's dad said. "Then I can compliment you while it's complementing our dinner."

"Oh, you," my mother said.

I stood at my stove and chugged most of a glass of red wine while I stirred the chicken with my free hand. One quick jump up on a chair and some screaming, and presto, even my mother had a boyfriend. Bearing flowers, no less. Even if they were from his poor forgotten dead wife's garden.

Nice of my mother to warn me.

I knew it was too late to suddenly remember dinner plans of my own, plus Rosie's dad was a sweet man, and I didn't want to hurt his feelings. I'd just have to get through it.

As soon as we were all seated around my dining room table, my mother held up her wineglass. "To good food and good company," she said.

"To chickens and lovely ladies," Rosie's dad said. "Thanks for inviting me, Lois."

My mother smiled. "Call me Lo," she said. Never in my life had I heard anyone call my mother anything but Lois. She was wearing a low-cut black top I'd never seen before. Who was this strange woman, and what had she done with my mother?

Rosie's dad raved about the coq au vin. It was pretty good, but the pearl onions really got on my nerves. What was the point of all those stupid little onions?

I took another gulp of wine. I poured another glass. I started counting backward from one hundred.

"May I please be excused?" I said in a little girl's voice when I'd finished.

I was hoping for a laugh, but my mother's eyes never left Rosie's dad's. "Sure, dear," she said.

Day 19

10,307 steps

I WOKE UP WITH A SERIOUS COQ AU VIN HEADACHE, BUT I dragged myself out of bed anyway. I knew the only thing that would help, besides about a gallon of water, was a nice long walk. In a world full of disappointment, walking was becoming the one thing I could actually count on. dragged myself out of bed anyway. I knew the only thing that would help, besides about a gallon of water, was a nice long walk. In a world full of disappointment, walking was becoming the one thing I could actually count on.

Sometimes the first half mile or so was a little bit of a struggle, but then I got caught up in the conversation, or the beautiful day, or the soothing feeling of just putting one foot in front of the other, over and over and over again. Then the endorphins, those lifesaving opiatelike chemicals, would kick in, and I'd think, wow, maybe I really can make it through another day after all.

I choked down some vitamins, two Advil, plus a smoothie, drank some more water, and headed out to my driveway. Tess was already in my garage recording her mileage on the map.

"Can you believe we've only made it to West Woohoosett?" she said. "And, yes, of course there's really a Woohoosett. It's named after the red-billed Woohoosett-you can hear those damn birds woohooing all over town."

"Did we walk through East Woohoosett on our way?" I asked.

"Absolutely. Don't you remember? It's the wildest part of town. Anyway, good thing we had those frequent flier miles, or we'd be lucky to cross the Massachusetts state line." Tess looked up. "Geez, what happened to you? Have you been out partying with my daughter?"

"No," I said. "With my mother."

Rosie stepped into the garage. "And my father," she said. "He had a great time last night, by the way."

"Are you two having parties without me?" Tess asked. "I think that could get awkward."

"Of course not," I said. Even though we'd never actually talked about it, the lines seemed pretty clear to me. We walked together and then went back to the rest of our lives. The exception was anything involving our trip to Sequim. Over the years I'd learned that instant new best friend relationships often fizzled after a short burst of too much information, too much time together. Friendships that lasted needed time and space to evolve, and it was nice when everybody just got that.

"Noreen's mother invited my father to dinner, that's all," Rosie said.

We filed out of the garage and started to walk. I moved up ahead of them on the sidewalk, hoping to give my head some time to clear. I'd had three glasses of red wine, if you didn't count what was in the coq au vin, which was one critical glass over my limit. The older I got, the less I could get away with doing that. I wasn't sure if I'd become more sensitive to alcohol or less accepting of feeling like shit. It didn't seem fair somehow. Just getting through dinner with my new mother and her date should have been suffering enough.

Rosie was a little quieter than usual today, I thought. I knew I was. Tess filled the space created by our silence. "So," she said. "I haven't heard back from Annalisa yet. Maybe she gets a lot of e-mail, or maybe she's saving her energy for her classroom. Or maybe she's off having some fun before she goes for chemo on Monday."

We crossed over to our side street. "So," Tess continued. "I started shopping for the writing journals. I mean, it's not like she's going to say she doesn't want them. And I can just buy extra, since I don't have a head count. Anyway, I found these really cute ones at a good price, fluorescent green with orange stars all over them. I thought I could hand-letter Be the Star Ms. Grady Knows You Are Be the Star Ms. Grady Knows You Are on each one." on each one."

My eyes filled up with tears. I blinked them back.

"But they weren't lined, and third graders do better with journals with lines, so I'm going to keep looking."

We walked for a while without anybody talking.

"Don't all jump in at once," Tess said. "Am I boring you or something?"

"Sorry," I said. "I'm just not feeling very talkative today."

Rosie didn't say anything.

We walked the rest of our usual route in an unusual silence. It was exactly what I needed. I tried to take in the perfectly cloudless summer sky, to enjoy the hint of coolness that would be gone in another hour or so as the sun heated up the day. My calves and thighs felt so much stronger than they'd been a couple weeks ago, and I found myself swinging my arms to intensify my workout.

"Well, that was fun," Tess said when we were back in front of her house. "Ciao." She gave us a wave over her shoulder as she walked away.

I looked at Rosie. "Is she mad at us?"

Rosie shrugged. "She'll get over it. Every day can't be perfect."

Rosie and I went into my garage and stretched on the mats. Then I started walking Rosie back to the path, the way I always did.

Rosie stopped at my lavender patch and bent down to check the plants. Some of the little blooms were going by already. It was sad, if you thought about it, how soon the good things were over. I'd been pinching the dead flower spikes off, just like Rosie had shown me, so each plant would put its energy into becoming a stronger plant for next year, instead of trying to keep a flower alive when it was on its way out. It seemed like there might be a big message for me in there somewhere.

"I don't quite know how to say this," Rosie said. She was still looking at my garden.

"What?" I said.

"It's just that my father hasn't been a widower very long, and well, he hasn't dated since my mother died, and I just want to make sure..."

"Oh," I said. "Don't worry. My mother's a really nice person. And she hasn't dated since my father died either, at least I don't think she has. Plus, it's probably not even real dating. It's more about companionship at their age, isn't it?"

Rosie stood up. We both looked at my clothesline, where my mother's racy underwear dangled like a Siren's call.

"Oh, boy," I said.

"Maybe we should just stay out of it," Rosie said. "Or maybe we should sit them down and have the condom talk."

I was still looking at my clothesline. "Hard to tell," I said.

IT WAS PROBABLY morbid curiosity that propelled me to my Friday small-group coaching session. That and the fact that I really needed to get out of my house. My mother was purging and rearranging my kitchen cabinets. She was also singing to herself and driving me crazy. I left just before I drowned in "Moon River." morbid curiosity that propelled me to my Friday small-group coaching session. That and the fact that I really needed to get out of my house. My mother was purging and rearranging my kitchen cabinets. She was also singing to herself and driving me crazy. I left just before I drowned in "Moon River."

When I got to Fresh Horizons South, I sat in the parking lot, the air-conditioning in my car blasting, and planned my entrance carefully. Too early and I might have to have an awkward conversation with Rick. Too late and the whole class would look at me when I walked in, and I wasn't sure I was up to the scrutiny today. My headache was gone, and I'd taken the time to blow-dry my hair and put on some makeup and a decent outfit, but I was still a little bit shaky in the self-esteem department.

With four minutes to go, I locked my car and headed for the small-group coaching classroom. Even though I'd tried to put him out of my mind, the kiddie-size lockers in the hallway made me think about Michael again. I mean, if he had the social skills of an eighth grader, he could have at least had one of his friends call me to break up for him. And to think I'd thought all that retro stuff was cute. Maybe it was a fine line between retro and regression. It seemed to me that, as we got older, maybe we all started thinking about our childhoods more and more. And that was probably okay. What I needed to watch out for were the men who became became children again. children again.