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For a second, everything I’d practiced in the car disappeared.

“You look beautiful,” I said.

Her mouth curved. “My mother says I should wear flats.”

“I like you in high heels.”

That got me a real smile as she kissed my cheek and I caught a whiff of the White Shoulders perfume she was wearing.

I held out the tulips.

“White,” she said, taking them. “They’re pretty.”

“Well, you said roses were boring.”

She grinned. “When did I say that?”

“At the Chadwicks’ dinner. You were very moved by the centerpieces.”

“I was moved by the fact that they blocked Mr. Chadwick’s view of me for most of the soup course so I didn’t have to watch him wink at me all night.”

I laughed as she looked down at the flowers again, touching one petal with her thumb.

I’d remembered. With Lorrie, small remarks had a way of staying with me.

Lately, she’d been looking at me as if she’d only just met me. There was a new calmness in her, and I didn’t know what had caused the change. She was only twenty-three, but there had been times over the past few days that she seemed a lot older. It made no sense.

Then again, very little about Lorrie had made the proper amount of sense since the day I realized I was trying to make her laugh more often than I was trying to impress her.

She put the tulips in a glass pitcher, then checked her hair in the mirror and took my hand as we crossed the lawn to the main house, where Bitsy appeared almost immediately, as if she’d been listening for footsteps. She wore a pale linen dress that had survived the humidity through either money or witchcraft, and gold earrings that flashed when she turned her head.

“Paul,” she said, kissing my cheek. “How lovely to see you.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Hale.”

“Bitsy, please.”

She’d been saying that since June and I still hadn’t managed it.

Walter came in from the den with the evening paper folded under his arm. The front page was still full of the Olympics, and he’d begun speaking about Mary Lou Retton as though he’d personally coached her through adversity.

“Paul,” he said, shaking my hand. “Your father tells me the markets have been jumpy.”

“My father thinks everything is jumpy if it moves before he’s finished explaining it.”

Walter laughed, which helped. He had a large laugh when something actually amused him, and Lorrie’s eyes flicked to me as if she was pleased I’d managed it. That was another thing. Making Walter laugh felt good because it pleased Lorrie.

Bitsy asked after Mother, Walter mentioned my upcoming move to Cleveland, and Lorrie stood near the counter watching us. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. A month ago, I would’ve assumed I could.

Lorrie would tease me later, imitate her father’s serious voice, and tell me my tie made me look like I was on my way to advise the governor. Now she stood quietly, her fingers resting on the counter, and I wondered again what had changed, and if it had anything to do with her job.

When Walter said, “Alan thinks Cleveland will be good for you,” Lorrie’s face changed before she smoothed it away.

A few minutes later, I opened the passenger door for her, and she slid into the Saab with her purse on her lap. The car still held the heat of the day, and the leather was warm enough that she shifted slightly as she settled in.

“Sorry,” I said. “I should’ve started it earlier.”

“It’s August. Everything is hot.”