“Taco soup,” Darla answered and she wandered to the table. “Canned tomatoes. Black beans. Kidney beans. Pork and beans. Corn. Taco seasoning. Dinner of champions. Pantry soup. You complaining to the management?” She narrowed her eyes.

“Good sell,” Ainsley said and she dipped her spoon in and brought it back up, watching the red liquid run down the silver.

“Three different kinds of beans. On a date,” Ethan added and he nodded to Darla. “Thanks, Mom.”

She smiled. “Fake date. And hey…the butcher was fresh out of steak. I thought I was being fancy.”

“You’re dismissed,” Ethan said and he waved his hand.

“Jeez,” Darla said under her breath and she rolled her eyes. “The peons and I are going to have our soup inside.”

Ethan turned and watched as everyone crowded inside. Dean stopped to pressed play on an old stereo, which was also hooked up to the generator. One of his dad’s old Frank Sinatra CDs started playing and Ethan smiled softly. He remembered his father playing Sinatra in his den on quiet summer nights; during the rare times he’d allow himself a cigar. Something in the music wiggled into him. The punctuated rhythms of the horns, and the swooping strings, and Old Blue Eye’s lyrics dripping with romance—Ethan didn’t want to be lonely.

He didn’t want the world to feel so empty.

Darla set down a bowl of soup in front of Dean. He bowed toward the warm liquid and inhaled; when he came back up, he was beaming.

“A warm meal,” he said. “Makes the running around for this silly little thing worth it.”

“You’re welcome,” Darla answered. Teddy rushed through, his bowtie askew, heading for the screen door. “Where are you going, young man?” she asked and her child halted in his steps.

“To eat with Ethan,” Teddy answered.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Darla snapped her fingers. “The waiter eats inside. Go on. Get. Leave them alone.” Teddy slumped his shoulders and retreated to the den, where his toys awaited him. Peering out of the dining room window, Darla spied outside, with the shades drawn, she and Dean had a perfect view of the glowing backyard and the young couple slurping their soup and engaging in cheerful banter. Ethan and Ainsley both smiled—an act that seemed rare compared to the duo’s grumpy way through life.

“To be young,” Dean replied, catching Darla’s gaze and turning over his shoulder to look outside. He turned back to her and grinned, “You want a beer with your soup?”

“Cold?” Darla asked with incredulity.

He nodded. “Lukewarm. I hooked the mini-fridge up to the generator and ran an extension cord into the kitchen.” He hopped up and returned a few seconds later with a barely cold beer can.

“Not much of a beer drinker,” Darla started, but she cracked open the top, “but I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“Ethan shouldn’t have all the luxuries tonight, right?” Dean said and he tipped his can against hers.

“I’m impressed,” Darla said, sipping her soup slowly. “You’re a good sport, with all of this.” Someone outside said something funny, and the laughter carried inside. “I figured you to be aloof. You know, withdrawn.”

“Don’t lump me in with your other middle-aged houseguest,” Dean replied and he set his drink down with a smack. “I have no ill-will. Just trying to live, you know? Hoping to reunite with Grant…”

It was the first time Dean had really mentioned his son. She paused, debating about pressing further. She was reassured to hear him say his son’s name. Grant had been a kind kid, in the short time she spent with him, and she’d been fond of him—he was polite, eager to help.

“The morning they took off in the balloon…” Darla started, unsure of herself. She watched Dean’s face, looking for a reason to just shut up and leave it be, but he waited and watched for her to continue. “Didn’t you hear it? The fan?”

“I’m not proud of it,” Dean answered. “I was self-medicating. Look, I thought Grant was dead…first my wife, then my son. I was a mess. And I was afraid, you see. What kind of life is left when everyone you love is gone?”

“None. No blame there.”

“Thinking I lost Grant messed me up. When I saw the balloon…I don’t know,” Dean ran his hand through his hair, and he sighed. “He didn’t come in, you know? Didn’t check. We both thought we were the only ones left. I figured…this is what letting him go feels like. It’s numbing.”

“I can’t imagine losing Teddy,” Darla shuddered. She closed her eyes and the images of Grace, her love, her life, and that moment in the airport when she realized she was losing her forever, danced before her. It didn’t feel like she was gone. It felt like she was away, on vacation. Everything about their lives had been so disrupted it was easy to pretend that in a few short days she and Teddy would pack up, head back to Southern California, and everything would be as it was.

“I had time to prepare for my wife’s death. I can’t decide which is worse…to know or not to know.”

“Does it really matter?” Darla asked him and she pushed her bowl of soup away. She was no longer hungry.

“No,” Dean answered. He tapped his fingers against the can. “No.” He sniffed. “Loss is loss.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Darla replied and she leaned back in the dining room chair. A breeze blew in through the kitchen. The CD Dean had plopped into the player carried a song into them—something soft and romantic, something that didn’t match her feelings. She listened to Teddy in the den, his imagination taking him to far off lands. She couldn’t wait for the next part of Ethan’s evening; she couldn’t wait for something to feel normal.

They ate their soup with occasional lulls in speaking; the music filled in the silences. Then Ethan stopped, mid-bite, and looked up. The twinkle lights in the trees caught Ainsley in a perfect glow—her hair falling into her right eye. She looked up and caught his glance, and she slowly she tucked her hair behind her ear and narrowed her eyes.

“You’re staring,” Ainsley replied and she slurped a noisy bite of soup off of her spoon. It was an exaggerated unladylike action. He knew she meant it as a warning. “Seriously. Stop.”

Ethan put his own spoon down. And he blurted before he could help himself, “You’re beautiful.”

“Shut up.”

“No,” Ethan said and he shook his head. “You really are.”

“Beautiful is not a word that boys like you say to girls like me. Unless we’re the only ones around, right?” She took another bite and rolled her eyes.

“Hey now,” Ethan grumbled. He put down his spoon and looked at her. “It’s not like that.” It wasn’t. “And what do you mean boys like me?”

“Boys. Like you. With girlfriends and charm.”

“You think I’m charming?” Ethan asked and he pointed a finger at his own chest. Then he laughed straight up to the sky. “Funny, Ainsley. Real funny.”

“Okay,” she said simply. And then she sat back and looked at him. “I am beginning to feel like this is just some big joke to you.”

Ethan looked crushed. He opened his mouth to say something, but he felt a stab in his stomach and a pain travel across his chest. Buckling over, he slapped his hand over his mid-section and let out an involuntary gasp. Spots traveled into his sight and he tried to blink them away. In an instant, Ainsley was on her feet. She rushed over to him and spun his chair away from the table; kneeling down he put her hand against his forehead.

“You’re hot,” she said.

Ethan raised his head. His skin went clammy and he felt a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead. “Shut up,” he said back.

“You are burning up,” she reworded. “You’re the worst patient. You can’t decide if you want to yell at me or hit on me.”

The pain subsided and Ethan slowly sat back up. “Probably just the beans,” he said and he took a deep breath. “Sit down. Finish eating.”