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corner had a poop bag dispenser. Khan trotted from trash can to trash can, taking in the rainy world through his tiny nostrils. A dog’s sense of smell was so far advanced that Lindsay could hardly imagine it. She unfurled the umbrella and sat down on a bus bench. Umbrellas were part of her world. In the summer she had to sit under one, otherwise she’d get sunburned. That was because of her father’s genes, which included red hair and freckly skin. She wondered if Ephraim Cantor had any other kids, if somewhere out there in the world she had a half-brother or -sister. Did they also like vegetables more than pizza, and reading science fiction? Were they too short, like she was, and what did they think of the Human Genome Project?
    Khan was Allegra’s third Chihuahua. Allegra loved dogs more than she did cats, birds, dolphins, or horses. Lindsay liked Khan, but sometimes she imagined a longhaired orange cat curled up on her lap while she typed scientific findings into her computer. She imagined two tiny goldfish swimming in a bowl, waiting for the moment her fingers would release a pinch of flakes into the water. She imagined a cage with finches in it, too, with all their peeping and jumping, and then Khan whimpered for attention, so she stood up and started back toward the café. It was raining hard now, and her feet—she’d forgotten the boots—were soaking wet.

    “We’re having dinner here tonight,” Lindsay’s mother said as they set out the day’s leftovers on the counter.
    “Why?” Lindsay asked, her backpack in hand already for the usual rush home.
    Her mother looked at her blankly. “What do you mean, why?”
    Lindsay eyed the counter: a cinnamon bun that could feed a family of five, crumpets, almond horns, blackberry pie, and more beef barley soup. Reluctantly, she set her things on the floor, took a plate, and began filling it with two-day-old take-out salad. “It’s the week before college classes start. Why aren’t you meeting with students?”
    Mariah looked at her mother and grandmother for help.
    “Leave the fables to Aesop,” Gammy Bess said. “The truth may sting a little, but in the long run it hurts less than deceit.”
    Lindsay watched her mom purse her lips in irritation. Who wasn’t telling the truth? And about what? “Mom?” Lindsay said.
    “Please,” she said. “Just eat your dinner. We’ll talk later.”
    “Allegra?” Lindsay said. “Want to hear my Science Fair project ideas?”
    Allegra, Khan in her lap, looked very tired and did not answer.
    “Do you want me to fix you a plate?” Lindsay asked. “I’ll share my salad with you. It’s really good, lots of ginger.”
    Allegra petted Khan the way he liked, which was gently and lightly, like a butterfly kiss. “That’s all right, Lindsay. I’m not hungry.”
    The four of them sat at the table in the empty café, nobody talking. Lindsay looked from adult to adult. No one would meet her eye except for Khan, and that was because he was the all-time beggar of the world.

    Later that night, home in their rented condo, Lindsay got into her pajamas and slid into her bed with her secondhand copy of The Dragons of Eden. A quote from Shakespeare started it: “What seest thou else in the dark backward and abysm of time?” The words gave Lindsay shivers. Until tonight, the first fifty pages had never failed to calm her. Her mind raced. A new friend. A science project partner. Allegra and her mom at the doctor. Everyone so quiet at dinner. What Gammy said about telling the truth.
    Lindsay got up from her bed and looked across the hall. She saw light under her mother’s door. No way she was sleeping. Lindsay got an antacid from the bathroom cabinet, chewed it up and swallowed, and then knocked at her mother’s door. “Come in,” her mother said.
    Rather than propped up in bed with a dozen open books around her, her mom was just sitting there hugging her knees. When Lindsay looked at her, the tears began to