I was about to head upstairs when Lucy said, “There she is.” She pointed through the sliding glass doors leading from the dining room onto the patio. I was relieved to see our mother sitting at the glass-topped patio table, her back to us. She was still in her light summer robe and terry-cloth slippers.

“She must have forgotten,” I said.

Lucy and I slid open the door and our mother jumped at the sound. She tried to look behind her, but couldn’t turn her head quite far enough to see us, and I was distressed that we’d startled her.

“It’s just us, Mom,” I said quickly. I bent over to kiss her cheek.

She was looking at an old photograph album, and she fumbled with it, trying to close it quickly but failing. Among the black-and-white photographs, I saw one of Isabel standing on the bulkhead dressed in a pale sundress, waving at the camera. My God, she looked like Shannon! A sailboat was on the canal behind her, heading toward the bay. I caught Izzy’s dimpled smile just before my mother managed to close the cover on the book, her hands fluttering, shaking.

“Hi, girls,” she said, struggling to put cheer in her voice. “What are you doing here?”

Lucy gave me a worried look over the top of our mother’s head. Mom was no more forgetful than I was most of the time, but it was clear that we’d walked in on a private moment.

“We’re here to work in the garden,” Lucy said.

“Oh, that’s right.” Our mother got to her feet, lifting the photograph album to her chest. We were all going to pretend it wasn’t there. That was the way we operated in our family: We were masters at ignoring the elephant in the room. If we pretended it wasn’t there, it couldn’t hurt us.

“Let me get dressed and I’ll help you,” she said. She kept her head lowered as she scooted past us, as though she knew her eyes were rimmed with red and was hoping we wouldn’t notice. It was clear she wanted to get away from us to pull herself together. Seeing her self-consciousness made me ache for her. I longed to touch her. Hold her. I wished I could ask her what had her so upset, but it was clear that was not what she wanted and I let her pass.

“I brought bagels,” Lucy said, most likely because she didn’t have a clue what else to say.

“And there’s juice in the fridge,” Mom said, as she opened the sliding door.

Once she was in the house, Lucy and I looked at each other again.

“Maybe we should have called before we came over,” Lucy said in a hushed tone.

“How weird that she was looking at old pictures now,” I said.

“What do you mean, ‘now’?” Lucy asked.

“You know,” I said. “Ned’s letter. Me talking with Ethan. Having to think about Isabel’s death. All of that.”

“A coincidence,” Lucy said, then reconsidered. “But you’re right. It is kind of strange.” She held up the bag in her hand. “Cinnamon raisin, oat bran or plain?” she asked.

We each ate half a bagel in the kitchen, then left them on the counter for our mother. Lucy found one of Mom’s old gardening hats in the hall closet and she tugged it low on her head. Then we doused ourselves with insect repellent and walked out to the toolshed in the rear of the yard.

We opened the door to the musty-smelling shed and began digging through the tools.

“Any word from Ethan?” Lucy asked, as we put a couple of hoes and weeders in the wheelbarrow.

I laughed. “It’s only been…what? Ten hours since you asked me that question last night.” I felt the start of a hot flash, the damp heat burning the crown of my head, then radiating downward over my cheeks and neck. I took off my hat, fanning myself with it.

Lucy laughed. “One itty-bitty mention of Ethan, and look what happens to you,” she said.

I was only mildly annoyed with her. “Just you wait a few years,” I said. “I’m not going to forget how unsympathetic you’ve been to me while I’ve been going through this.”

I put my hat back on and we began pushing the wheelbarrow toward the garden.

“Do you think sex would be difficult?” Lucy asked.

I looked at her. “What are you talking about?” I asked.

“I mean…” She looked utterly guileless. “You know, with you being menopausal and all that.” Lucy had a knack for bringing up the most difficult subjects with an air of innocence. “Let’s say that you could get past your concerns about having a relationship with Ethan and—”

“I doubt very much that I could.” I stopped pushing the wheelbarrow at the edge of the garden and lifted out the hoe. “And even if I wanted a relationship with him, I doubt he wants one with me.” I started raking the hoe between the rows of tomato plants. The garden was the same oversized plot of fertile soil that Lucy and I had grown up with, but it seemed like much more work now than it had been when we were kids. “And besides,” I added, “I have very little interest in sex these days, anyway.” That was a half-truth. I’d gotten used to thinking of myself as asexual. I couldn’t have cared less about sex during the last few years of my marriage to Glen, which might have been part of the problem between us—yet another thing that was my fault. But my reaction to seeing Ethan—even to talking with him on the phone—was forcing me to rethink my definition of myself as a sexless creature.

“I’m afraid that’s happening to me, too.” Lucy dropped the kneeling pad next to the lettuce.

“You?” I looked at her in surprise. I’d expected Lucy to have an insatiable appetite for sex until she was on her deathbed—and maybe even then.

“Sad, isn’t it?” she said, lowering herself to her knees on the pad, a trowel in her hand. Her hat flopped low over her sunglasses. “I never thought I’d hear myself say that.”

We heard the sliding-glass door open and turned to see our mother walking toward us. She was dressed in the gardening overalls I’d bought her a couple of years earlier and wearing green rubber shoes and a straw hat, and she looked much, much better than she had just a half hour before.

“Mom,” I said, “why don’t you sit and relax and let Lucy and me do this today?” I suggested.

She stopped walking toward us. “Not a bad idea,” she said. “I’ll just get a cup of coffee and a piece of bagel and pull a chair over so I can visit with you.” She turned around and disappeared into the house again, and Lucy and I exchanged another look.

“What’s going on with her?” Lucy asked. It was not like our mother to let us do the work ourselves, not that we minded in the least.

I brushed a bug from my damp forearm. “Maybe she finally realizes that gardening in this kind of heat is more than she should be doing,” I said, dropping my hoe to the ground. I walked over to the patio and carried a chair back to the garden, setting it in the shade near where we were working.

“How can she drink coffee when it’s this hot?” Lucy said, when Mom appeared again on the patio. She walked toward us carrying a cup of coffee and half a bagel on a napkin. She sat down on the chair, all smiles.

“I was so sorry I couldn’t join you at your concert last night,” she said to Lucy. “How was it?”

“A lot of fun,” Lucy said.

“They were great, as usual,” I said, picking up the hoe again. Mom had planned to go to the ZydaChicks concert with Shannon and me, but she’d canceled yesterday afternoon, saying she was too tired to go out. I’d thought little of it at the time, but now I wondered if whatever had tired her out last night was related to her sadness this morning. As for me, I still felt a little high from having had that quality time with my daughter the night before. I missed seeing her every day. I knew I was calling her too much, irritating her, but I was only calling once out of every ten times I thought of her.

“Did Lucy tell you I want to plan a combination birthday and going-off-to-college party for Shannon?” Mom asked me.

“No,” I said, delighted. “That’s a great idea.”

“I thought we should have it at Micky D’s,” she said, “but Lucy thought it should be here.”

I sneaked a smile at my sister, mouthing the words thank you to her.

“Here would be perfect,” I said out loud.

“I think we should make it a surprise party,” Mom continued, “so could you put together a list of her friends for me, Julie?”

“Sure,” I said. I leaned on the hoe, thinking through the idea. “How about I take care of the invitations so you don’t have to worry about that part?” I suggested. “We’ll have to look at our calendars and see when would be good. She has to be at Oberlin in late August.”

“I don’t think a surprise party is such a great idea,” Lucy said.

“How come?” I asked, scraping the hoe through the dirt and weeds again.

“I don’t know,” Lucy said. “I think…she might want to have some say as to who gets invited. That sort of thing. I know I would if I were in her shoes.”

“Well, why don’t you two talk it over and get back to me on it?” our mother said. She took a sip of her coffee. “And meanwhile…” She hesitated so long that we both looked over to see if she’d forgotten what she’d been about to say. “I have a question for Julie.”

“What?” I asked.

“I was wondering when you planned to tell me you had lunch with Ethan Chapman.”

Speechless, I looked at Lucy. Did you tell her? I asked with my eyes. Lucy looked as surprised as I felt and gave a little shake of her head.

“How did you know about that?” I asked, holding the hoe at my side.

“I have my ways,” she said, tucking a strand of her white hair beneath her hat.

“Mom,” I said. “How?”

“His father paid me a visit,” she said.

“You’re kidding.” I pictured Mr. Chapman as he had looked the last time I’d seen him. He’d been on TV, a slender, handsome middle-aged man, shaking hands, kissing babies and making promises as he ran for governor. It must have been in the late sixties. “Why?” I asked.