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thought of me as positively as Dylan does.
    “Thank you,” I say as I wrap my arms around myself.
    “For what? For kissing you?”
    “For telling me these things about myself.” I pick up my art supply box while Dylan grabs the two suitcases and we start walking back to the house. “The jury is still out on the kiss.”
    Dylan laughs. “It wasn’t good enough?”
    Oh, it was good enough. Good and steamy. “My life is in New York. I don’t want to make things complicated here while I’m visiting.”
    “We’ll see about that,” Dylan says as he holds the front door open for me.

 
     
     
    Six
     
    As the house fills up with people, I can hear the cheerfully raucous voices carrying up to the third floor where I am unpacking in my old bedroom with the faded yellow wallpaper. I hang a couple of blouses and a summer dress in the empty closet that smells like cedar. Then I put my jeans, T-shirts, and underwear in a creaky, stiff dresser that I don’t recall being in this room.
    “You know, you could stay in Ginnie’s old room.” Dylan enters my bedroom with my art portfolio case that I left downstairs. “It’s bigger and has a nice view of the front yard. Plus, she renovated the master bathroom and put in one of those spa tubs.”
    “No, I want to stay in my old room.”
    “You forgot this.” Dylan puts the portfolio on the bed.
    “I think I’ll take that down to Ginnie’s studio. I brought my art supplies.”
    “Yeah, I heard you’re a painter, too.”
    I nod and turn back to the dresser. “Dylan, was this here when I was a kid?” I ask, pointing to the dresser.
    “No, I think that used to be in another bedroom. When you stayed here there was a giant basket full of toys against this wall and a little rocking chair. Those are in the basement.”
    “Could you push the dresser to the right for me?” I ask, studying the wall to the left of the dresser.
    Dylan doesn’t question my request; he simply lifts the left side of the dresser as if it weighs nothing and gently pushes it aside. I drop to my knees and look at the red crayon scrawled on the wall. Jess.
    “ Hey, would you look at that,” Dylan says, crouching down next to me. He grins. “I told ya you were smart. You were marking your territory, even at five.”
    Our faces are inches apart. I smile, happy that these memories are bringing back a flood of good emotions.
    “You know, I’m harnessing the strength of one hundred soldiers right now, doing everything in my weakening will power not to kiss you.” His warm breath caresses my face.
    “It’s very admirable.” I stand up before my body tries to betray me by kissing him first.
    “Okay, I guess that’s enough temptation. How about we set up your studio?” Dylan suggests.
    Eventually, Dylan and I make it back downstairs to join the others who have come to visit. After dinner, the dining room is covered in dirty dishes, empty wine goblets and remnants of the fried chicken, mashed potatoes and various salads Bonnie made for our impromptu dinner meeting. I sit between Lauren and Dylan and across from Archie and Imogene. Lois and Eleanor, Aunt Virginia’s dearest friends, sit at either end of the table. They are both in their sixties, and very striking and pretty, showing off every well-earned wrinkle along with fashionably styled hair that doesn’t hide their silver and gray. They look very fit in their bright linen tunics and the yoga pants they say they prefer to wear.
    “Keeping up your physical health at our age is full-time work, so we do yoga and Pilates five days a week. Might as well keep the pants on,” Lois says to me in an exasperated tone. “Sometimes I get so sick and tired of bending over and having to look at someone else’s rear end in front of me. Honestly. Not to mention all these new-age people and their phony ‘namaste’ greetings. Between the expensive classes, retreats and the clothing lines, this yoga business is really a racket. It would be nice to take it