“Of course you deserved him,” said Sherri. “Of course you did.” She reached across the table and squeezed Rebecca’s hand, and the gesture was so unexpected and so kind that Rebecca had to wipe once more at her eyes with her free hand.

“Alexa’s dad was an alcoholic,” she said. She hadn’t talked about Alexa’s father in a very long time—even thinking about him dredged up old feelings, feelings that were as messy and muddled as decomposing leaves in the middle of a forest.

Sherri made a noise that was halfway between a tsk and a sigh. “Oh, no,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

Rebecca’s second drink was three-quarters gone. “It was one of those leave-in-the-middle-of-the-night situations. Like, I had to get Alexa and myself out of there or I thought something really bad might happen. He wasn’t a jolly drunk who just fell asleep and was sweet and regretfully hung over the next morning. He got really angry when he drank. He turned into another person—an awful person. And he wouldn’t get the help he needed to get better. He tried, a couple of times. But it never stuck.”

Sherri was sitting very still, listening. For a moment, when Rebecca stopped talking, the only sound was the fountain and a very distant siren, probably coming from near the hospital. “So what happened?” Sherri asked. “To make you leave?”

“He drove drunk with Alexa in the car, and that’s when I said, That’s it. I had threatened to leave before, and I knew if I didn’t do it right then, I’d lose my nerve. So that very night, we packed up, and we left. Alexa wasn’t even three.”

Sherri sipped her drink and then said, “Just like that? You left?”

“Just like that. I mean, there was all kinds of legal crap we had to deal with later, lawyers and mediations and the whole bit, but the night we left was the last night we were all three under the same roof. I got full custody of Alexa, and that was it.”

“That was it completely? You don’t even talk to him anymore?”

Rebecca held her hand out in front of her. In the moonlight it looked pale and ephemeral, the hand of a ghost. “Well. Yes and no. He got in touch last year. He wrote me a letter, wanting to see Alexa. Claims to be sober now.”

“What’d you do? What’d you say?”

“I didn’t say anything. I didn’t answer him. I pretended I never got it. I never told Alexa! That’s terrible, right? But he has such a history of disappointing Alexa, when we were together he used to let her down constantly, even though she was so small he didn’t think she noticed or remembered. But I think she did notice. And this was just a couple of months after Peter died. We were all so fragile.” She squinted at Sherri. “You’re the first person I’ve told about that. Do you think I’m awful?”

Sherri snorted in a friendly way, if a snort can be said to be friendly. “My bar for awful is set pretty high,” she said. “So: no. I don’t think that’s awful. I think you did what you had to do.”

“By law he’s allowed to contact her directly once she turns eighteen, which will be in September. I don’t know if he will or not. But at some point I need to have a conversation with her about him.” She turned her head to face Sherri more fully. “See? I’m sure you have nothing quite that bad.”

Sherri held out her glass and said, “Can I have just a smidge more tequila?”

“Of course.” Rebecca wondered if she’d gone too far. “I’m sorry I spilled all that. But it felt good to say it. I never talk about that part of my life. Everybody here seems so perfect, and obviously they’re not, not on the inside, nobody is, but I never feel comfortable sharing this part of my past. It seems sort of shameful and sordid in the context of everybody else. You know what I mean?”

Sherri’s answer could have been mistaken for a breath, it was so soft: “I know.”

Rebecca shifted and turned to face Sherri more fully. “But how about you? What about your ex? Katie’s father? How much is he still in your lives?”

“He’s—” Sherri paused, seeming to be choosing her words carefully. “He’s hard to get in touch with right now. So for now, it’s just me and Katie.” She stretched her arms above her head. She swung her legs to one side of the chaise and stood, wobbling. “I think I’ll wake Katie and we’ll walk home,” she said. “And pick the car up tomorrow, if that’s really all right.”

“Are you sure? You don’t need to leave. Or if you need to get home, you can leave Katie here and I’ll return her in the morning.”

“Thank you. I’m tired. It was a long day. But I’m sure Katie would be delighted to wake up here tomorrow, if you’re positive about that?”

“I’m positive.”

“Do you want me to help get them into bed?”

Rebecca waved her hand. “I might just tip them over and put blankets over them. They’ll be fine. Do you want me to walk with you?”

“No,” said Sherri. “Thank you. You stay with the girls. And, Rebecca—thank you. It was so good to talk.”

After Sherri had gone Rebecca went around the patio straightening the cushions and picking up the glasses and retrieving a stray cocktail napkin from where it had wafted into the shallow end of the pool. (She was definitely drunk; she realized this when she almost slipped into the water reaching with the skimmer to get the napkin.) The pool pump was running quietly and efficiently in its energy-saving night mode. All was peaceful.