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real kitchen to the back of the Playhouse. He told them he was turning it into a guesthouse, for when they brought friends home from college, but really, Abbie thought now, he was probably just trying to keep her and Emma out of it while they were teenagers. It took him five years to do it all, to build the frame, add the shingles, have someone install electricity and run water and plumbing from the same lines that fed his shop at the back of the garage. It was too bad for Lily, really, because she was still little and would have loved the fantasy world at the back of their yard. Lily was twelve when the Playhouse was ready again. She used it, Abbie had always thought, for escape, in the same way Abbie had, except it was Abbie that Lily was escaping. It was Abbie who had taken their mother’s place, running the house, cooking and cleaning and acting as disciplinarian and protector. It was Abbie who freaked out when she caught twelve-year-old Lily and her friends smoking in the Playhouse, and it was Abbie who chased Lily’s first boyfriend away from the sagging sofa when Abbie caught them with their clothes off.
    Now as Abbie sat reminiscing, a truck pulled into their driveway and parked next to the house. Her father got out. Eager to greet him, Abbie half rose, but he didn’t notice her. To her surprise, heheaded toward the Playhouse. He was carrying a cooler. When he got to the bottom of the garden, he called out—Abbie could hear his voice but not the words—and the woman turned in her chair, then stood. As Abbie watched, her father set the cooler down, reached into it, and handed the woman something. The two talked easily; Abbie could tell by the music of their voices that they were friendly.
    She took the opportunity to study her father. She hadn’t seen him for nearly two years but he appeared pretty much like he always had, tall and broad-shouldered, with the muscular posture of a contractor.
    Her father said a few more words to the woman, picked up the cooler, and came toward the house.
    When he was only a couple of yards away, Abbie stood up. “Hey, Dad!”
    To her surprise, her father’s face turned bright red. Was he
blushing
?
    “Well, my gosh, Abbie, I didn’t even see you there! Sweetheart, you look grand!” Jim Fox strode toward his daughter, dropped the cooler on the terrace, and embraced her in a grizzly bear hug. “Lily told me you were coming, but I didn’t realize it was so soon. How are you?”
    “I’m great! How are you? Man, you don’t look a day older! What’s your secret?”
    Her father blushed again. And his hazel eyes sparkled.
    “So you’ve rented the Playhouse.”
    His face continued to flame as he turned toward the bottom of the garden. “Well, yes, in this economy I’ve got to say I can use the money.”
    “Who’s the renter? Is she nice?”
    Jim Fox cleared his throat. “Her name’s Marina Warren. She’s from the Midwest, and yes, she’s very nice. I just gave her some bluefish, actually. Iggy Holdgate hauled in a large catch and gave me some.” He opened the cooler. “A big guy.”
    “Super! I’ll cook it for dinner!”
    “You’ll cook? Honey, you just got here.”
    “Oh, I’m fine, I had a good nap. I love bluefish.”
    As they talked, they went into the mudroom and on into thekitchen. Her father put the fish in the refrigerator, then said, “I’m going to take a shower.”
    “Fine. I’ll get started in the kitchen.”
    “Where are your sisters?”
    Abbie squatted down to dig through the crisper and found a bag of fresh lettuce and two bunches of asparagus.
    She told her father, “Lily’s taken off—I don’t know where—and Emma’s upstairs in her room.”
    Worry flashed across her father’s face.
    “We had a great talk.” Abbie handed him a cold beer. “I’ll have one, too, while I cook.” With forced enthusiasm, she said, “I’m so glad to be back!”
    “Are you really?” her father asked. “I know it’s not London.”
    “It’s