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long is she renting for?"
    "The summer, I think. I admit, I haven't exactly paid attention to anything Lily or Dad said recently."
    "Dad must be worried about money if he rented the Playhouse."
    "I think he is." Emma began to cry. "I was going to take care of Dad. I had a special savings account earmarked for him. And it all just-- went. "
    "Oh, honey." Abbie reached over and took her sister's hand. "No one ever expected you to do anything like that."
    "But I want to!"
    "I know. But come on. Dad's not that old. He's what, fifty-two? And you have to admit, he looks ten years younger."
    "And I wanted to give him grandchildren."
    "You will. 'Course you will. You're not even thirty yet. You'll meet someone new."
    "I don't think so, Abbie. I'm so tired. I could go back to bed right now."
    "Maybe you should see the doctor. Maybe try an antidepressant?"
    "Yes, because meds work so well for our family." Emma stood up. "I can't do this anymore. I'm going back to bed."
    "I'll call you for dinner."
    Perhaps she shouldn't have mentioned antidepressants to Emma, Abbie thought as she sat alone in the garden. It was a tough subject for them all. But Abbie couldn't help but worry about Emma and she knew Lily was right to call her home. Emma had always been the determined one, the ambitious one, the optimist. Seeing her like this was just wrong. Abbie didn't think she had the depression gene, if there was such a thing, but Emma was close to the mark when she accused Abbie of not letting herself get vulnerable. Abbie didn't want to put herself out there emotionally, because she wasn't sure she could take a fall. And as for her youngest sister, Lily seemed to be naturally lighthearted, fun-loving, superficial. Plus dramatic Lily probably shed any unpleasant pressures by turning even the slightest problem into a soap opera.
    How odd it was that of the three sisters, optimistic Emma was the one who had struggled with a tendency for depression. All her life, Abbie had been aware of this. Weeks and months had passed when they were children when Emma would get quiet and melancholy. But she'd always bounced out of it. And when she got to college, she seemed to have burned away any despondency with the strong bright light of hope.
    Now this. Now Emma's world had crashed down around her. But Abbie was sure Emma would recover. And it was the beginning of summer on the island, a languorous time of year when each day was blessed with natural riches--sunshine, blue sky, sparkling water, soft breezes. It was a good time for starting over.
    As she sat musing, Abbie idly observed the woman at the far end of the garden. She had walked around the Playhouse, tilted her head up to scan the sky, and studied the fence that ran along the back. She went into the Playhouse by the blue front door and returned carrying an old red wooden chair. An apple tree arched possessively over the Playhouse--also, Abbie noticed, covered with ivy. The woman set the chair in the shade of the tree, stood with her hands on her hips for a moment, nodded to herself, and went back into the house. She returned carrying a small table.
    You've got our tea table! Abbie thought indignantly. Then she laughed at herself. It had been over a decade since any of them had even thought of the old table.
    The woman set the table next to the chair. She sat down on the edge of the chair. Abbie was hidden in the shade, or at least the woman didn't seem to see Abbie. She rose several times to adjust the position of the chair and table.
    I'd face the fence. It's covered with honeysuckle and clematis , Abbie thought.
    As if the woman had heard Abbie's thoughts, she stood and angled the chair and table so she was facing the fence. She walked back into her house and returned carrying a glass--it looked like a wineglass--and a book. When she finally settled, her back was to Abbie, which for some obscure reason offended Abbie.
    Now she began to understand why Lily had been so bent out of shape. Their lives had