“Got anything diet?”

She followed him to the stainless-steel kitchen, to the fridge with its massive doors. He held up some cans and she chose one.

While he filled a tall glass with ice and poured her drink, Kat let her eyes case the great room beyond. No sign of Leigh. The decor did not suggest a woman lived here. She took the glass he offered her.

“When did you meet Leigh?” Ray asked.

“She lived across from me in Whittier when we were growing up. We stuck together all through high school, and for years after college. Leigh was a kick, one of those people who say unpredictable things, plus she didn’t give a damn about current fads. She liked comics, and so did I. She liked fantasy rags, ditto. She liked me because-because”-she paused-“my family appeared normal, maybe. I had a sister and brother, and she had neither. Maybe she was a little lonely, stuck with doting parents.”

“You lived in Whittier? Where?”

“Near uptown, not far from Penn Park. Franklin Street? We spent all our time hanging around at the park, learning to braid lanyards out of plastic strands and tease the boys. Leigh called that hill where all the young lovers went ‘Smoochers’ Hill.’”

He nodded. “I lived in East Whittier, once when I was young and then later, from the time I was twelve until I graduated from high school. My mother still lives there. You know I met Leigh at the shopping center in East Whittier? Whitwood?”

“Eating ice cream, no doubt.” Without being fully aware of it, Kat had sat down on the white sectional that faced an expensive hill view darkening as night came on. Ray Jackson sat down opposite her, nursing his own iced soda.

“I lived in a two-story frame house, nothing fancy,” Kat said. “Leigh lived in a huge Spanish mansion across the street. Her father was a policeman.”

“He still is.”

Talking about the Hubbels led them into talking about good old Whittier, California. Ray had gone to the same big high school as Kat, Leigh, and Tom, but he was three years older than Leigh. Well, Jacki would approve, Kat thought, looking around. Ray Jackson had also gotten the hell out of Whittier. He could probably see all the way across the hills and into her cramped place in Hermosa Beach through those wide windows.

He seemed nice enough, although the look in his eyes was not exactly friendly. He was polite, too curious to throw her out, although she sensed that she should keep this visit short.

Leigh was not here and wouldn’t be coming home tonight, that was clear. As for the rest of it, it was none of Kat’s business. She was beginning to suspect that Leigh had pulled another Leigh, dumped this nice guy and went off with another one. No mystery there.

“So, I ask again, what got you here today? I mean, it’s been years, so you say.”

Kat trotted out her excuse, explained about Leigh’s unpaid receptionist. “Unless Leigh wants to close up shop, you better pay that young lady.”

He appeared relieved. “Sure, of course. Leigh’s taking a little time off. She must have lost track.”

“The girl said that’s not like her.” But Kat remembered, in fact, how Leigh abandoned things. How she abandoned people.

The room was getting darker, but he didn’t turn on any lights. He asked her about her work, where she lived, where she’d gone to college. Kat found herself admitting she lived alone and met men on the Internet. She knew she told too many people about these things in her life; she knew she did it so that she would appear bold and self-possessed.

Men often reacted to these bald-faced admissions like wasps, swarming in close. Ray Jackson moved slightly closer, then drew back.

So, he had become aware of the charged atmosphere and had the sense to avoid it.

She knew from bitter experience that animal attraction between two strangers did not mean a man didn’t love his wife and wouldn’t continue to love her. Closing her eyes for one brief moment, she wished again she had better control over her body and her thoughts.

She stood up, took her pen out of her bag, dashed a note off to Leigh, basically just begging her to call, then she shook Ray Jackson’s hand, made excuses, mumbled some more nonsense, and fled.

B ut her home in Hermosa would have to wait. The cell phone made its “ A1A Beachfront Avenue!” shoutout. “Jacki needs you to come over for dinner,” Raoul told her. So she kept going, starting to feel pretty beat up now, her back melding with the Echo’s seat as the miles in the car piled up. The moon hung like a gibbous pumpkin over the freeway. At least the traffic had cleared.

Raoul answered the door. His glasses were crooked and her mother’s pear apron, well-splattered, was tied around his waist over a pair of canvas shorts. A fan whirred on the floor. “The a/c’s out. Jacki’s in the bedroom. See if you can do something for her. She won’t talk to me.” He padded behind the kitchen counter to stir tomato sauce.

“What’s for dinner?”

“Spaghetti cheers her up.”

“Me, too.” She kicked off her shoes, and, going barefoot to the bedroom door, pushed it open.

“Get lost,” said the voice within.

Drapes darkened the room. Two fans blew toward the bed. Kat’s eyes adjusted and landed on her sister, who lay curled on one side on the mussed-up king-sized bed, face splotched with tears. “What’s the matter?”

“I am a whale preparing to give birth to a whale. The only thing missing is the part where you float in water, weightless, and all’s well.”

“Can’t get comfortable?”

“My liver has merged with my stomach. My kidneys are squished between two sharp bones in my back. My heart is constricted to walnut-size. Food squirts up in acid form in my throat. On this, the hottest night of the year, our air-conditioning has quit.”

“We should call your doctor.”

“I did.”

“What did she say?”

“What she always says. It’s normal.”

Kat took two pillows from the head of the bed. She tucked one under Jacki’s back, and another under her stomach. “Better?”

“Kat, remember that time Ma asked you to stop at the store and buy some meat and instead you spent the money on a bouquet of daisies?”

“I thought we needed them more.”

“Well, this is like that. I need to give birth, and you bring me pillows. Still, it’s a kindness and better than Raoul could manage.”

“He knew to call me, didn’t he? He does his best, Jacki,” Kat said.

Which set off another spate of tears. “Of course he does. He’s great. Fantastic. I don’t deserve him!”

Kat got up and went to the bathroom for a washrag. She soaked it in cold water, folded it over, and returned to place it on her sister’s forehead. “You rest. We’ll call you when the food’s ready.”

“He’s messing up my kitchen in there.”

“Don’t worry.”

Jacki groaned and closed her eyes.

Kat went into the kitchen to help Raoul, which primarily consisted of wiping up after him.

“Will she go back to work when the baby’s born?” Kat asked.

“She says no,” Raoul answered.

“Do they know she plans to quit?”

“She says she’s got three months paid maternity leave and just wants to keep her options open.”

“In other words, no.”

Handing her four forks, he said, “Who knows? After a few months at home, she might beg them to take her back.”

Kat pulled out place mats from the drawer and started to put them around, crowding the three into a corner of the large dining room table. “Set for four,” Raoul said. “Jacki insists she’s going to get up, and we have another guest.”

Kat found another mat. “Who’s coming?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“You both know I hate surprises.”

“Somebody Jacki dredged up. I mean, invited.”

“Leigh?”

“No, no. I’m not supposed to say.”

“Tell me or I’m out of here.”