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triumphantly at the little mouse. Sometimes, Callie even thought she saw him smiling. For Henry, it was a new story and an old friend every time.
    She lifted him up onto her lap, opened the book, and began, but her words were immediately interrupted by a popping sound somewhere in the distance. Henry looked up, frowning, and pointed. “It’s nothing,” Callie assured him, “just firecrackers.” She turned back to the book, but she was interrupted again. This time, she looked up at the sky and wondered if the Connors were having their Fourth of July party. She quickly pushed the thought away, wrapped her arms around Henry, and tried to refocus on the book, and the life she’d chosen.

10
    L inden came in from doing chores, grabbed a cold Molson from the fridge, and headed straight for the shower. He turned on the water, glanced at the clock, and wondered how it had gotten so late. He washed quickly and then leaned back and let the water drench his head and cool his sunburned shoulders. He thought about the day and wondered why he couldn’t seem to get Callie off his mind; it was almost as if the possibility that she had come home had released a floodgate of memories. As the water rinsed the soap away, he closed his eyes and thought back to a hazy summer evening, years earlier, when Callie had stopped by on her way home from work.
    She had been sandy and sunburned from lifeguarding all day, and her hair had seemed to have a mind of its own in the humidity. She’d leaned against her Nova, watching him wash his truck while they talked about what they should do that night. She’d said she just wanted to go home and take a shower, and Linden had held up the hose and teased, “Take off your suit.” She’d rolled her eyes and he’d grinned. “Seriously, you could just shower here.”
    “Hmmm ... I’m sure your parents would love that.”
    “They’re in Boston.”
    “I know, silly, but don’t you think they’d frown on me taking a shower when you are the only one home?”
    Linden had turned off the hose and stood in front of her. “Why?” he’d teased. “What could happen?”
    “Well, for starters, their seemingly innocent son might try to seduce his girlfriend ... again! ”
    “Hmmm, has he done that before?” he’d murmured, kissing her neck.
    Callie had leaned back against the car and closed her eyes. “Well, not successfully,” she’d said softly. “But you know that old saying, ‘If at first ...’ ”
    “I think I know the one,” he’d whispered, slipping his hands under her shirt onto the silky, taut material of her bathing suit. His hands had glided smoothly up along the curve of her body. “Hmmm,” he’d teased, “what’s goin’ on here?”
    “I wonder,” she’d replied. “Maybe the same thing that’s goin’ on down here,” she’d whispered, pressing against him.
    Linden opened his eyes and sipped his beer. It was late and he needed to get going, but the memory of Callie’s body pressed against him had aroused more than his mind. He closed his eyes, leaned back, and let the water rush over his body.
    An hour later, Linden parked his truck out on the road and walked toward the Connors’ brightly lit house. He could hear laughter coming from the backyard and splashing from the pool. He hesitated, wondering if it was too late to turn around and head home. But as he stood in the driveway, considering, a familiar voice called mockingly, “Well, well, can it be?” and Linden knew it was already too late. He peered into the shadows, trying to make out a face, but all he could see was the orange glow of a cigarette. As he drew closer, a fragrant cloud drifted from the garage, and he realized it wasn’t a cigarette.
    Josh Connor stepped to the edge of the light, wearing a faded black Grateful Dead T-shirt, holding his breath, and grinning sheepishly. He held out his joint, but Linden just held up his hand and shook his head.
    “You’ll never change, will you, Josh?” he