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longer brooding about Jess but thinking about Elena and how easy it was to be with her and what it might be like to kiss her, which set me to brooding again. She left me to it. She was so quiet and still that I thought she must be asleep, but when I stole a glance at her she was staring pensively out the windshield.
    â€œPenny,” I said.
    â€œWhat if she refuses to talk to us? What if she’s offended we came?”
    We’d debated and ultimately decided against calling Roberta Harbuck to let her know we were coming, figuring the risk of rejection would be less in person. We might be loco for doing this, but we didn’t look unhinged. We looked, it occurred to me, like a nice young couple.
    Shying from the thought, I said, “Then we apologize profusely and get the hell out of there.”
    Dusk was falling when we reached our destination, a two-story clapboard house in a middle-class neighborhood. It was a warm September evening, and people were out throwing balls with their kids, weeding their flower beds and sipping beers on their front porches. We walked and fed Izzy then put him back in the car with the windows partway down. He whined when I closed the door, and Elena reached inside and patted him on the head.
    â€œSorry, Izcito. We won’t be long.”
    â€œHe’s always like that,” I said. “He hates being left.”
    She gave me a bemused look. “Who doesn’t?”
    A Big Wheel missing its main attraction lay abandoned in the overgrown grass to one side of the walk. So, I thought, it wasn’t just Roberta Harbuck who’d lost her husband; a child or children were now fatherless. The house needed a fresh coat of paint, and one of the front steps was nearly rotted through. I felt a pang of sadness at these signs of masculine neglect.
    The door was open, and the sound of a television gunfight wafted onto the porch, which was littered with toys and debris. A recycling bin sat by the doorway, overflowing with Dr Pepper cans. Buried among them were several empty half-gallon bottles of Jim Beam. The sight of them made me want to turn around and head back to the car. I had a bad feeling this wasn’t going to go well.
    But Elena was already knocking on the screen door and, when there was no answer, calling, “Hello? Anybody home?”
    A teenaged girl appeared. She was fourteen or so, skinny and barefoot, with long hair that needed washing. She wore cutoffs and a Lady Gaga T-shirt that was a size too small. She squinted at us warily through the screen.
    â€œWhat do you want?” she said. Her accent made the “want” sound like “won’t.”
    Elena smiled at her. “Is your mother here?”
    â€œWho is it, Brie?” A little boy who couldn’t have been more than six or seven appeared in the door frame, sucking his thumb and trailing a ratty blanket. A vivid red smear ran across his chin. I hoped it was food and not blood.
    â€œNobody we know.” The girl licked her thumb then knelt and wiped the red off him. I was reminded of Elena cleaning Izzy’s eyes. “Go on now and finish your s’ghetti before it gets cold.” She gave him a gentle push in the direction of the gunfight.
    â€œSorry if we interrupted your supper,” Elena said.
    The girl, Brie, stood and regarded us with magnificent disdain. “I’ve told you people before, we’re Baptists. We’re not interested in becoming Jehovah’s Witnesses, so you can just hightail it on back to your Kingdom Hall.”
    I barely managed to turn my snort of laughter into a coughing fit. Were we that earnest-looking? Elena shot me a stern glance, and I got myself under control.
    â€œThat’s not why we’re here,” she said to the girl.
    Brie’s eyes narrowed. “You selling something then? ’Cause whatever it is, we’re not buying.”
    â€œNo, nothing like that,” Elena said. “We just want to have a word