On Monday, when Josh took the kids to the beach, Vicki persuaded Brenda and Melanie to go shopping with her in town. The day was dazzling, and Main Street was a hive of activity. Vicki stood for nearly twenty minutes at the Bartlett’s Farm truck picking out a rainbow of gladiola, six perfect tomatoes for sandwiches and salad, ten ears of sugar-butter corn, the perfect head of red leaf lettuce, and cucumbers that she would marinate in fresh dil , tarragon, and vinegar. Vicki carried this bounty herself—though Brenda strongly suggested putting it in the car—because Vicki liked being healthy enough to carry two shopping bags of vegetables, and she liked the way the stems of the gladiola brushed against her face.

Brenda wanted to go to the bookstore, and so they lingered in Mitchel ’s for a while, where Vicki paged through cookbooks. Melanie bought the sequel to Bridget Jones. Vicki dashed up to the bank for cash and she picked up lol ipops for the kids. When she got back to the bookstore, Melanie was standing outside, waiting for her. Brenda had gone to the Even Keel Cafe for a coffee. They proceeded down Main Street to Erica Wilson. Melanie wanted some new clothes. She tried on a long embroidered skirt with an elastic waist, and a tunic that she could wear over her bathing suit. Each time she came out of the curtained dressing room to model for Brenda and Vicki, she twirled. Her face barely concealed her delight.

Vicki was about to mention Melanie’s unprecedented ecstasy to Brenda, but Brenda beat her to it. “What is up with her?” Brenda said. “She’s been Suzy Sunshine lately.”

“I know,” Vicki said. “She’s happy.”

“But why?” Brenda said.

“Does there have to be a reason?” Vicki said.

“Don’t you think it’s strange?” Brenda said.

“Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones,” Vicki said. “Or maybe she just loves it here with us.”

Brenda looked skeptical. “Oh, yeah, it’s us.” Her cel phone started its strangled jingling. “I’m certainly not going to answer that.”

“What if it’s Josh?” Vicki said.

Brenda checked the display. “It’s not Josh.”

“Not Mom?”

“No.”

“Your lawyer?”

“Mind your own business, please.”

Melanie came bouncing up, swinging the shopping bag in her hand. “Okay!” she said. “I’m ready!”

Brenda furrowed her brow. “If you’re taking happy drugs, it’s time to share.”

“What?” Melanie said.

“Onwards!” Vicki said.

They hit Vis-A-Vis and Eye of the Needle, Gypsy, and Hepburn. Brenda looked long and hard at a reversible Hadley Pol et belt at Hepburn but then declared loudly that she couldn’t afford anything new. Vicki thought this sounded suspiciously like fishing, but she let it go. They moved on.

Vicki bought a straw hat at Peter Beaton. The salesgirl was careful not to stare at Vicki’s head when the scarf came off; Vicki could feel her not-staring, but she didn’t care. She caught up with Brenda and Melanie at the top of Main Street. Melanie was standing outside Ladybird Lingerie, gazing at the door as if waiting for it to magical y open.

“Do you want to go in?” Vicki asked.

“No, no,” Melanie said. “What use do I have for lingerie?”

At Congdon’s Pharmacy, the three of them sat at the lunch counter and ordered chicken salad sandwiches and chocolate frappes. Brenda’s cel phone rang again. She checked the display.

“Not Josh,” she said.

“I feel guilty,” Vicki said. “Having this much fun while someone else is watching my children.”

“Get over it,” Brenda said. “You deserve a morning like this. We al do.”

Melanie lifted her frappe in a toast. “I love you guys,” she said.

Brenda rol ed her eyes and Vicki almost laughed. But this was the old Melanie. Before Melanie became obsessed with having a baby and devastated by Peter’s betrayal, she had been one of the finest girlfriends around. She was always up for a twirl outside the dressing room and for cozy lunches where she would propose lovey-dovey toasts.

“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.