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“He slipped his collar,” Bane says as he reaches us and retrieves the leash.

Sprout sneezes across Bane’s trousers before turning his attention back to me.

Babs wraps both arms around my waist, and Biddy presses against my side. Their welcome catches me with more force than Sprout’s charge, and I crouch so I can hug them properly.

“You came,” Babs says, pulling back to study my face as though she’d expected a last-minute escape.

“You invited me.”

“We invited you yesterday, and people forget when they’re busy.”

The simple statement catches beneath my ribs, although Biddy gives me no time to dwell on it before she slides her hand into mine. “I knew you’d come.”

Her certainty makes my throat tighten, so I squeeze her fingers and glance at the kite reel tucked beneath her arm. “I wouldn’t miss seeing whether your father can fly one of those without conducting a risk assessment.”

Babs thrusts her reel toward me. “Mine’s a dragon, and Biddy has a butterfly. Daddy wanted to buy the boring ones.”

“I chose kites that wouldn’t frighten every child in the park,” Bane replies as we start along the path.

“The shark was smiling,” Babs says.

“It had blood painted across its teeth.”

“That meant it already ate.”

Mara glances at me over her sunglasses. “I voted for the shark, but Benny has always been cautious.”

“I was sensible.”

“You wore knee pads when we played catch.”

“I was six.”

“You put them on your elbows because you didn’t understand the instructions.”

Babs stares at him with delighted disbelief as Bane shortens Sprout’s leash and guides the dog around a cyclist.

“We’re moving on from this,” he says.

Mara continues toward the grass with the satisfied expression of a woman who has achieved exactly what she intended. Biddy keeps hold of my hand as Babs skips ahead with her kite reel bouncing against her leg.

The path curves between trees still filling out after winter, and sunlight breaks through the branches across damp grass. Joggers and cyclists move around families pushing strollers, walking dogs, and steering children away from the bridle path.

A nearby food cart sends the smell of fried onions and sugary dough across the walkway. The combination hits the back of my throat hard enough to turn my stomach, and I press my lips together but keep pace beside Bane.

I’ve passed dozens of carts like it without caring what they served, but today the oil clings to every breath and leaves me fighting the urge to step farther away.

Bane looks at me before I can smooth my expression. “Are you all right?”

“The cart smells like someone fried dessert in onion grease.”

“Hmm.” He glances toward it. “It always smells that way.”

The twins break into a run, and Sprout surges after them until Bane plants his feet and tightens his grip on the leash.

An enormous octopus floats above the center of the lawn, its fabric tentacles twisting over the smaller kites. Babs stops and points toward it as Biddy follows her gaze. “That one has eight legs.”

“That’s standard for an octopus,” Bane tells her as we catch up.