Pleasure shot through me, and I rushed to the kitchen to show Summer his text.

“I think we use the lemongrass cologne today. We don’t want to make any promises but want him to know you’re very interested but not easy.”

I kissed her temple. “You are a nut.”

“Shaman Shamansky would be so proud. Your aura is clean today.”

I made a move like I was poufing my bouffant hairdo, and she said, “No need for that. It’s big.”

I texted Maddie: We’re bringing Peanut to see Katie in an hour!

MADDIE: Send Pics!!! Also, I miss you

I thought maybe my aura pulsed with delight.

ME: I miss you too.

I sent her a string of emojis: a syringe, a dog, and a red helmet with a white cross on it. Maddie sent me a thumbs-up.

“Okay, boys. Let’s pee and finish sprucing up.”

Back in the bedroom, I removed the grumbling Moose from under the comforter, where he’d spent the night at my feet. He yawned dramatically, stretching his back legs behind him one by one.

“Let’s get moving, dude—we have a big day ahead.”

I located Utah, wedged between my pillow and the headboard. After Summer and I had bathed the dogs and I’d told her everything, I’d placed the litter box in the bathroom, and by some miracle or mistake, Utah had done her business.

“Utah, nicely done. Mommy will be so proud.”

I raced the dogs outside, hauled the cat and dog foods from the trunk of the Prius, and dropped my phone no less than thirty-seven times. I fed everyone, gave Peanut his insulin, and cleaned the gunk out of Moose’s eyes. Eight a.m.

“Drink your coffee,” Summer said, bringing me a mug. “I’m going to shower.”

I took a sip; the hot liquid slipped down my throat, and like the lights on a pinball table, my brain came to life.

I left the bathroom to Summer, the dogs following at my heels, and looked at my favorite photograph: first day of kindergarten, Maddie and me kneeling, my tan knees poking out from an end-of-summer dress.

Next to that photo was one of Jeff, his brown hair and eyes so similar to Maddie’s. I’d never put all his photos away, wanting Maddie to know her father even if she would never know her father.

I touched the frame. “It’s time to say goodbye to you, my friend.”

I picked up the picture and put it on Maddie’s bedside table in her room. I’d make sure she packed it for school. His spirit wasn’t hanging around me, but I hoped he was hanging around Maddie. A spirit father might be just the right thing for a girl’s first semester at college.

Back in my room, I kicked off my pajama bottoms. I yanked on a pair of jeans and slid my feet into my go-to tennis shoes. Peanut knocked his head against my leg and slimed my thigh, and I patted his jug head.

Summer, wrapped in a white towel, led a cloud of steam out of the bathroom. There were black smudges of mascara under her eyes. “Do you want to pick something out of my closet to wear?” I offered. “It’ll be too big, but it’s clean.”

“I won’t stay long.” She said this like someone who was often told, The show’s over; clear the set.

In elementary school, I’d been cast as one of the princesses in the high school’s rendition of The King and I. I had very little to do, no lines at all. Just a lot of scurrying across the stage between characters and occasionally moving a plant or two during set changes. Despite having the smallest of roles, there was something intoxicating about being among a troupe of people who spent weeks together reciting the same lines, singing the same songs. When it was all over, it was as if I’d been birthed back into a confusing social world without a squad and no script.

I looked at Summer. This was what her life was like. Weeks and months of pseudo-intimacy, working closely with the same people as if they were family. Everyone knowing all the inside jokes, everyone with all the same complaints, everyone knowing the score. The score being—we’re not family; we’re not friends; when this is over, it will be time to move on. Best of luck. To quote NSYNC from the year 2000, “Bye Bye Bye.”

“Summer. I want you to stay as long as you want to.”

“Oh no!” she said brightly. “I’ll be out of here soon. I’ll make flight reservations today.”

I knew she was sensitive about her career, about the unpredictable nature of show business, so I didn’t want to corner her, asking for too many details. Instead, I said, “Maddie’s gone for the whole summer. You can stay in her room. Or stay in my room. Either way. I’m not used to being home alone.”

Summer stood, her back straight, examining me. I almost saw her wheels turning, gauging my sincerity or maybe trying to figure out what I would be getting out of the deal. Peanut barked, and that seemed to rouse her.

“I won’t stay in your room. Drew might be needing my side of the bed,” she said and winked. Then she grabbed her two enormous bags and started toward the door. When she got to me, she said, “Yup, the lemongrass for today” and moved herself into Maddie’s room, and I felt simultaneously bighearted and lucky.

In the bathroom, I glanced in the mirror. My skin looked, if I dared say so myself, good. I had the warm complexion of someone who’d been in the sun, taking care of something on her long and unfinished to-do list. Summer entered, and we looked at each other’s reflections. The women in the mirror were clear eyed and capable.

Summer shucked off her daisy-girl visage and said, “You are not cotton. I have no business being proud of you, but I am.”

I took a deep, cleansing breath, clasped her hand. “You are a good friend.”

Summer squeezed my hand and said, “Too bad we can’t bottle this feeling. Gwyneth would pay millions for it.”

This drive to the hospital had all the makings of the first one. Was it only a week ago that we’d started this journey? Phone calls, rushing, anticipation, the obligatory Walgreens stop. I knew I shouldn’t have been thinking about what to bring. I should have learned by now that my presence was enough. This time the stop wasn’t for me or Katie.

Sweet Utah was curled in Summer’s lap, both of them fully groomed and ready for a calendar photo shoot, if need be. But oh, the dogs. I glanced in the rearview mirror, and Peanut sat erect, scruffy-looking with his fat pink tongue hanging extravagantly. Not much was visible of Moose, but his wide eyes protruded possibly more than usual.

Something had to be done.

“I’ll be right back,” I said.

“Get me a Diet Pepsi and some Cheez-Its.”

I must have looked shocked because she said, “Babe, we aren’t in California anymore. When in Rome.”

I glanced at the dogs, the car windows down, the breeze blowing through. Moose blinked as if one second away from an eight-hour nap. The bath we’d given them the night before had done little except create two startled dogs. Apparently a bit less of their natural oils made for an unhinged look. Peanut’s Tinder profile would read, For the stray-dog lover in you.

I darted inside to the pet supplies aisle and found what I was looking for. I’d seen it the last time I was in the store. Two matching blue-and-white patterned bow ties, with a loop to fit their dog collars. Just the thing to tidy everybody up.

In the parking area of the hospital, I watched Summer brush orange powder off her fingers and take a final sip from her soda. “You know, there is something fantastic about the chemical high you get from artificial food. I can see why people are obsessed.”

I’d been telling her about the many delights Wisconsin had to offer. “Wait till you try our Wisconsin cheese curds. They squeak when they’re fresh. You can get them fried at a supper club with a brandy old fashioned.”

She squinted at me and said, “I don’t speak Wisconsin.” She eased Utah into the inside pocket of her bag. The kitten was part floppy washcloth and part playful stuffed toy and seemed happy to not be in control of anything.

Leashes clipped into place, we paraded to the front of the hospital amid curious and indulgent smiles. A concrete path led to a patio with benches and permanent tables. We chose the seat with a metal plate screwed into the back and engraved with the words For Loretta Larson, and I felt so grateful to be alive.

I couldn’t sit. I fussed with a patch of fur on the top of Peanut’s head like a school mother before a class photo shoot. As a last-ditch effort to make everyone look less desperate and more sleek, I took a lint brush out of my bag and gave everybody, including me, the once-over.

“Oh! I almost forgot.” Summer spritzed me with the lemongrass cologne and said, “You look pretty. Two o’clock.” She pointed with her eyes.

We straightened. Both dogs twitched and rotated their ears to the tops of their heads before I saw the door ease open. Holly pushed Rosie in a wheelchair through the door, both women with enormous smiles and bleary eyes.

The dogs stood, wagged in unison, and tugged at their leashes.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I gushed. “I’m so nervous and excited. I can’t stand it.”