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grateful for the few months he needed her.
    Lauren was more verbal, more needy, than her brother. In high school, she had become more circumspect, preferring to confide in her friends, Ann guessed, than share secrets with her. But before that, as late as seventh grade, Lauren chatted eagerly about everything from boys and who liked who to teacher personalities and homework. And Ann had just as eagerly listened, often spending several minutes with Lauren sitting on her bed before Lauren became silent with fatigue. Lauren still opened up to Ann, rarely. But mostly, Lauren—and Nate—chose to talk, eat, and spend most of their time with their peers. They’re normal teenagers, Mike and her friends told her. But Ann felt discarded and discredited nonetheless.
    Ann decided to dress casually, in moss green suede pants and a black and white striped angora sweater. She took some new black shoes out of a box in the back of her closet and slipped them on her bare feet. As if the shoes had been hand-sewn to conform to every contour, the soft Italian leather gently clung to her skin, from her narrow heel to her lacquered big toe. Back in the bathroom, she applied her makeup and then rubbed cream into her hands before reaching for the ring she removed to bathe. Women could barely keep their eyes off the six-carat diamond and sapphire trade-up engagement ring Mike had bought her when she turned forty; their gaze ping-ponging from her face to the ring, face and the ring. She looked at the ring and then herself in the mirror one last time before turning out the light.
     
    Tony’s was crowded, but, as promised, a table was ready when Ann walked through the door. It was just before seven when she sat down. Five minutes later, Mike joined her. “I had a four-hour meeting today,” he said, sitting down and loosening his tie. “I’ve never needed a drink more.”
    “I beat you to it,” said Ann, holding up her glass of champagne.
    “Are the kids coming?”
    “Yes,” said Ann. “At least, I hope they’re coming. I left messages with both of them.”
    Mike ordered a scotch, which arrived just as Nate, glaring at Ann, and Lauren, ponytailed black hair still wet from her post-practice shower and dressed in jeans and a button-down pink oxford cloth shirt, approached the table. Mike took a long drink. Lauren gave her parents a tight smile, then sat down. Nate stood behind his chair. “That’s blackmail,” he said to his mother. “Ordering me to drive my sister around in exchange for insurance payment is blackmail.”
    “Sit down, Nate,” said Mike, putting his white cloth napkin in his lap. Mike was increasingly ordering Nate to sit. Nate had grown six inches in the past year, and while he was nowhere close to Mike’s height, he was closing in.
    “I’m serious,” said Nate, yanking his chair out from under the table and flopping down onto the seat. He jerked his head to coax his blond bangs out of his eyes, a frequent maneuver with results lasting only seconds. Ann had stopped riding him about cutting his hair, heeding Mike’s advice to pick her battles. Big or small, she seemed to lose all of them. “She’s a big girl. She can find her own rides.”
    “And you’re a big boy,” said Mike. “So you should understand that you, too, can find your own rides. Your car can certainly sit in the garage until you’re mature enough to pay for it.” Nate knew a threat when he heard one. His father would never follow through, but it nonetheless hung there, fouling the air, until Nate took a sip of water from the glass their server just filled.
    “I’m Mario,” he said. “Would you like to hear the specials?”
    “No,” said Ann. “I’ll have poached salmon and a house salad with raspberry vinaigrette on the side.”
    “And I’ll have a Caesar salad and tortellini Alfredo,” said Mike.
    Ann frowned and said, “Call nine-one-one when you put in that order.”
    Mario smiled agreeably. “And for the young