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but couldn’t quite make them out. And she didn’t want to. Evie did not want to see her ex-husband’s name seared into human skin.
    So, not only were Nicole’s jeans riding extra-low on her hips; she had a tattoo. Nice Jewish girls didn’t get tattoos. You can’t be buried in a Jewish cemetery with one, and nice Jewish girls were always worried about where they’d be buried. So Nicole only arrived in Sam’s and Sophie’s lives bearing a tattoo, not to mention chocolate Santas and Easter baskets. The cultural sway still made Evie seasick.
    She touched Nicole’s arm and left her hand just a second too long. Nicole looked down and Evie retracted it as quickly as if she’d burnt her fingers on a hot pan. It sent a mixed message of advance and retreat.
    As if someone had pressed fast-forward, Luca was out of his baby seat and lying on an activity quilt in the middle of the living room. Teethers and rattles surrounded him, and Sophie and Isabel were on their hands and knees, their faces over his, making him laugh. Evie sat with Sophie. Nicole plopped on the floor next to her and wiggled into position with her legs crossed. She looked comfortable. The kids on the blanket served as a mini-Switzerland.
    Luca smiled when Evie scrunched up her nose at him. He wiggled in place the way six-month-olds do. Evie’s phone rang.
    At least she knew it wasn’t Nicole. Was it Scott? She glanced down.
    “It’s my sister,” Evie said without really owing an explanation. Last week Nicole probably didn’t know Evie had a sister. Evie walked into the hall bathroom, flipped on the fan she always thought was too noisy (until now), and shut the door.
    “Great timing, Sis. Nicole’s here.”
    “She’s at your house?” Lisa said as if English were not her first language.
    “Yes, and I don’t know how to get rid of her without being mean.”
    “Be mean.”
    “I can’t be mean, her husband just died.”
    “You and I both know it wasn’t such a big loss. She just hasn’t had time to figure it out.”
    “Stop!” Evie said. “Please, don’t make this harder for me. I’ll call you later.”
    “Yes, you go back to being the hostess with the mostess,” Lisa said as she hung up.
    By all accounts, being a good hostess was at the top of Evie’s list.
    *   *   *
    “Sorry about that,” Evie said, stepping back into the living room. The kids were gone. Beth sat on the floor, and Laney sat on the couch, as if they’d been there the whole time.
    “When did you two get here?” Evie asked.
    “When you were hiding in the bathroom,” Laney said.
    “Do you want us to go?” Beth said, her voice whispery and apologetic. She motioned between herself and Laney, who crossed her legs the way tall people do, at the knees with her left leg bouncing against the right. Evie knew Laney wasn’t leaving.
    Nicole hugged her legs against her chest and rested her chin atop her knees. At least she was humble enough to know she was under scrutiny. Could Evie even get into that position now? Could she ever? Luca stuck a teething toy in his hand, his mouth, his hand, his mouth.
    Luca would not know the pain of losing Richard, but he would share the experience with his siblings of growing up without a father. Were Evie’s kids better off because they’d have their own memories of Richard, documented by mountains of photos, videos, and corroborated and even enhanced—perhaps embellished—stories told by Evie? Who would tell Luca stories about his dad? In the long run it would be Sam and Sophie, but for now it would be Nicole. And if Evie allowed it, it would be her as well.
    “So, Nicole,” Laney said.
    “Yes?” Nicole cocked her head to one side.
    “What are you going to do now? Move back near your parents? To Idaho, right?”
    “Iowa.” Nicole looked at Evie. “But I want Luca to grow up near Sophie and Sam.”
    “They’re moving,” Laney said.
    A look of panic befell Nicole.
    “I’m not moving!” Evie barked. Laney’s