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charitable to call our excursions junking. But we had hit the mother lode a few months ago in Anacortes, including a washtub that now held bottled water and pop on ice, and a raft of Japanese glass floats we’d scattered in her flower beds. The real treasure had been a replacement samovar for the shop. With Arf along, the Mustang had already been overfull. We’d had to send Eric, Kristen’s husband, and the girls up to fetch the stuff in a borrowed truck.
    Across the yard, Bonnie sat on the stone wall.
    â€œWhat is up with Mom and Bonnie?” I asked Kristen.
    Beside me, Kristen breathed in sharply. “Remember the old saying, Pepper. Don’t ask a question unless you’re prepared for the answer.”
    And with that, she marched off to greet a new arrival.
    I chalked her reaction up to nervous tension, and grabbed a plate. A few minutes later, I joined Laurel and Seetha, seated near the rose garden. “Good job,” I told Laurel, my mouth full. “Love the black bean pasta salad. And I can’t believe you put my cucumber cantaloupe salad on skewers.”
    â€œOld catering trick,” she said. “Serve as much fork-free food as possible.”
    â€œI’d like to share your lemon thyme cookie recipe at the shop.”
    Beside her, Seetha’s face lit up. “You two should write a cookbook. Recipes from Ripe and the Seattle Spice Shop.”
    Before I could ask when she imagined we would find the time, Cayenne bubbled up in front of us, her hair gathered in a magnificent red-and-black lobster roll. “House tour. Wanta come?”
    I’d seen it through every phase of the remodel. I’d helped pick paint colors. I’d even stumbled across the stone lions that now guard the front door, in a weed-infested lot behind a secondhand shop where Kristen had refused to venture in her white linen pants. And she didn’t need any more of us clomping around the house than absolutely necessary. “You go. You’ll love it.”
    Ben sat beside me, and we watched my mother take Kristen’s arm and move inside. To my surprise, Bonnie and Sharon brought up the rear.
    I scanned him, tip to toe. “No visible grill marks.”
    He grinned. “Your mother is lovely. Smart, funny—a lot like you. She’s very proud of what you’ve done with the shop. Although she did ask me my intentions.”
    â€œWhat did you say?”
    â€œI said I intended to drink another beer.”
    We mingled and chatted. I wrapped a few cookies in a napkin, for later. The summer solstice was approaching rapidly, and sunset was hours away, but a few shadows had begun to appear. Kristen’s oldest pranced around the yard in a tank top and shimmery skirt, lighting candle lanterns on the tables. Give her wings and she could have been a garden fairy.
    Tour over, a group of women appeared in the open French doors.
    â€œLovely, simply lovely,” my mother gushed to Kristen. “Who knew this old Seattle Box had so much potential? Your mother would be so pleased. So sorry your father isn’t here for the party.”
    â€œOh, you know him. Happier on a boat than anywhere else, since Mom died. The house is kind of a memory magnet.”
    â€œNext time, I want to see the theater in the basement,” Cayenne said. In her heeled sandals, she stood about a foot taller than Bonnie née Peggy. I was about to tell Bonnie we needed to head out—Friday night isn’t Friday night when you work retail—when she spoke.
    â€œYou kids had a playroom downstairs, and there was a guest room.”
    â€œAnd a cold cellar,” I said. “We locked Carl in there once.”
    â€œI don’t think anyone ever cleaned out the storerooms. All those little pack rat nooks and cubbies.” Kristen shuddered.
    â€œHey, did you show Mom the bracelet?” I said.
    â€œI took it off—too heavy. Another time.”
    An old neighbor approached, and it