“Elizabeth here yet?” Tory asked Debbie. These two seemed to be good friends. Tory Eubanks was a lot younger, maybe thirty, a natural blond with blond eyebrows, no makeup, and lashless Sissy Spacek eyes. She wore a denim jumper and Birkenstocks.

“No,” Debbie said. “But she said she’s coming. Elizabeth’s my sister,” she explained, turning to Nina. “She lives way up on the hill in a house she designed herself, the lucky duck. She’s so isolated up there. I try to get her down here to join our get-togethers.”

“Well, I guess I’ll go see what my husband is charring tonight.” Tory looked over the railing. “Hey! Justin! Don’t jump so hard with your little sister on that thing! Careful, now!” She wandered over to the table with her big plate of plastic-wrapped eggs, pushed a few things out of the way, and set them down.

Another couple appeared at the gate. More people! How would she ever remember them all! Debbie took Nina’s arm and led her toward them and away from David Cowan. Just in time, Nina thought. She had almost gotten sucked into Cowan’s vacuum back there, where you existed only as a personality-free blob of nonmatter.

“Oh, Jolene, what in the world?” Debbie asked. Jolene carried at least four dishes on a huge pewter tray. Debbie sniffed at the wrapped platters. “Yummy!” she said. To Nina she said, “Jolene’s such a magnificent cook. She makes the party.”

“It’s nothing,” Jolene said. Okay, Nina told herself, George and Jolene… Hill. Yes. The old cottage on the corner nearest Rosie’s Bridge with the great garden and the chain-link fence.

“Tell,” Debbie said, trying to peek under the foil. “What did you bring this time?”

“I tried a few new things, a spinach pie with a fancy Greek name I forget, a shrimp dish from Thailand, that mac and cheese George likes so much, and goulash,” Jolene said. She was a sprightly woman in her sixties, wearing bright earrings and a well-cut pair of slacks.

Debbie and Nina helped her unload the food on the table. They removed the foil and found serving spoons for each dish. From the smell and look of these dishes, Jolene was more than a good cook.

“Well, just look at you,” the elderly man named George said, coming up to them. “Miss Aloha 1982.” Debbie blushed like a girl.

George Hill had gone straight over to greet a couple of the men. He was carrying a black musical-instrument case. About sixty-five, he was still puffing from climbing the short stairway up to the deck. His florid face told Nina that he wasn’t well.

Sitting down on the redwood bench that ran along the railing with the case on his lap, he clicked it open and extracted a gleaming Spanish guitar. He swung it around his neck on its leather strap and let it rest on his paunch, then ran long, surprisingly graceful fingers across the strings.

He played a few chords, warming up, grinning at Debbie.

“George, this is Ben’s guest, Nina-what was your last name, honey?”

“Balzac,” Nina said, then bit her lip.

“Balzac? What kind of name is that? Hungarian or something?” George said.

“Yes, as a matter of fact.”

“Maybe you could play us a Gypsy tune,” George said. “I only play country myself.”

“I can’t wait to hear you,” Nina said, smiling. She heard a crash behind her and they all turned around to see that at the other end of the deck near the grill, Britta had dropped her glass on the deck. She was barefoot, laughing, standing in the middle of the glass.

“Sam! Rescue me!” she cried. Sam Puglia stepped over the glass in his moccasins. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her a few steps, and set her down in safety.

Debbie ran into the house. She emerged moments later with a broom and began the cleanup. Darryl stooped down to pick up glass shards, putting them delicately into a plastic bag.

“Britta’s lit,” George told his wife. He looked at his watch. “Seven o’clock. Not even dark yet. This could be a record.”

“The kids are having a great time in the yard, though, aren’t they?” the woman said. “Hi there,” she said to Nina. “I’m Jolene. I’m glad you’re here. Ben needs a good friend right now. George and I have two granddaughters out there running wild in the woods tonight, Callie and April.”

“Ah,” Nina said.

“So how do you come to know Ben?” George asked. “You bein’ a Hungarian and all.”

“We went to high school together,” Nina said.

“Where? In Tijuana?” He started laughing. “They have Hungarians down there?” He started to strum. “I know a Mex song. Marty Robbins. The best country song ever written. I dedicate this to Danny, rest in peace. He used to bring his flute over and play this with me sometimes. Good old Danny. Right, everybody? Let that boy rest now.” He played a few chords, started fingerpicking surely and nimbly, then opened his mouth and started to sing in a startlingly beautiful baritone,

One little kiss and Felina, good-bye…

“‘El Paso.’ Gave away the best part,” he said. “It’s a tragic ending. Felina, sounds like a cat.”

“I never thought of that,” Jolene said. “Shall I get us something to drink?”

“And a couple of those deviled eggs Tory always brings. Save me some of your mac and cheese, don’t forget. And don’t even think about bringing me any of that crazy yuppie guacamole Megan makes, with all that spicy shit she puts in there.”

“Well, I’m sure gonna have some,” Jolene said. She winked at Nina. George started singing about how he shot a man in Reno just to watch him die. To Nina’s surprise and delight, he was a terrific singer, gravelly and expressive.

Hearing the music, the liveliest thing happening in the yard, Britta came over to give him a kiss and flash her green eyes at him. He squeezed her waist. “Why does a blond wear her pants around her ankles?” he asked her.

“Tell me why.”

“To keep her ankles warm.”

Ted and Megan, who had also been drawn by the music, cringed.

“Why are men like linoleum?” Britta retaliated. “Because all you have to do is lay ’em, then you get to walk all over them for life.”

“Come on, Nina,” Jolene said. “I see you need a refill.”

An actual wine bottle bobbed in melted ice in a tin pail on the table. Nina helped herself.

Ben came over to join them. Jolene said, “Ah, sweetie,” and hugged him. Ben murmured something to her and she said, “We enjoyed him. He worked hard. It wasn’t for charity, honey. Now then, you takin’ care of yourself? You get that supper I put on your porch?”

“Sure did,” Ben said. “Thanks.” They started talking about the burial.

Nina wandered off, looking for Debbie. She found her in the kitchen on the phone. Hanging up, Debbie said, “That was Elizabeth. She wanted to stay home but I talked her into getting over here.”

“Is Elizabeth your older sister?”

“No, younger by a lot of years, only thirty. I try to look out for her. She’s shy, kind of like Ben. Intelligent, but she doesn’t understand people. She’s a conservationist. She’s going to get her Ph.D. next year.”

“That’s something to be proud of.”

“Is it ever. I never made it past high school. Married Sam, had our babies. We’ve been married twenty years. Our kids both went down to L.A. for college.”

Smiling, Nina said, “That’s also something to be proud of.”

“Elizabeth is special. You might like each other. She’ll be here in five minutes.”

“Food’s on the table!” they heard from the deck.

Jolene came in saying, “Where’s that mac dish?”

“Well, in the oven. I forgot all about it.”

“George gets grumpy when he doesn’t get his mac and cheese.” She put on two orange oven mitts and pulled a magnificent casserole with spicy peppers, tricolor chunks of melting cheese, and a crunchy paprika topping, out of the oven.

“Ow!”

“Oh, honey, you okay?”

“I’m going to get you some thicker mitts, Deb. Don’t worry about it, I’m just clumsy tonight. We’re all off-key because of Danny. I mean, we just got over the fire across the river, and now this. George’s blood sugar has been all over the place.”