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A.M., so either he stayed up late working or woke up extra early to get a jump on the day. Both options are equally possible.
    To: Claire Canton
From: Chris Canton
Subject: Schedule
    Leaving Albuquerque by 3 p.m. then heading to Santa Fe. When is the sign-up for fall soccer? Josh told me he definitely wants to play. Repairman coming to look at irrigation system Thursday morning at nine.
    To: Chris Canton
From: Claire Canton
Subject: Re: Schedule
    I already signed Josh up for soccer. Will make sure to be home on Thursday morning.
    I pour a second cup of coffee, check the rest of my e-mails, and work on my computer until Bridget knocks softly on my front door at 7:00 A.M . We decided a couple of weeks ago that we’d walk four miles every morning this summer, before Sam leaves for work and while Josh and Jordan are still sleeping.
    Sebastian stands beside her. His hair sticks up in crazy spikes and he’s wearing a Rolling Stones T-shirt and pajama pants. At fourteen, he’d rather sleep in during his summer break, but Bridget strong-armed him into babysitting because she knows Chris’s travel schedule makes it impossible for me to leave the house without someone here to watch the kids. Despite my protests, she won’t let Sebastian accept any money either, because it’s an easy gig and we’re gone only an hour. I keep an endless supply of Pop-Tarts in the cupboard for him and he’s usually sitting on the couch watching TV, covered in crumbs when we return, but I don’t care. He’s a good kid.
    Bridget’s full of energy this morning, fueled by a caffeine addiction that would give me heart palpitations if I drank even half as much. Cheerful and upbeat, she wears a constant smile and reminds me of a sprinter, poised, waiting for the crack of the starter pistol. Throughout the day her children wear her down until she drops into bed only to rise and do it all again. Before she started her family, Bridget worked as a nurse in a pediatric oncology unit. She told me once that she missed it terribly, and sometimes wondered if giving it up to stay home with the boys was the right decision. “You can go back someday,” I assured her, and I meant it.
    Bridget’s short blonde hair peeks out from under her baseball cap and she’s wearing a sweatshirt and capri-length workout pants. Cooler weather has finally blown in from the west and the gray sky threatens rain. We’ll be lucky if we don’t get poured on before we make it back home. I grab a sweatshirt of my own and we head out, power walking our way to the corner and turning left toward the bike trail that winds for miles through our tree-lined neighborhood.
    “How are you getting along with Chris traveling all the time?” she asks.
    “I’m doing okay,” I say. Bridget is my closest friend next to Elisa, and I could certainly admit that so far, despite my concerns, Chris’s travel schedule has had little impact on any of us. He spent most of the previous year holed up in our home office with the door closed while he networked over the phone or searched employment sites on his laptop. Half the time the kids didn’t even realize he was home, and when they did, they didn’t care, which broke my heart. His, too.
    It isn’t that I don’t trust Bridget; I do. And God knows she’s got her own problems to deal with. Sam’s prowess—or luck, depending on who you ask—at the casino and the racetrack is legendary, and Bridget knows what it’s like to be alone because Sam spends all his time at work and the rest of his waking hours betting on the horses or playing poker. She admitted to me once, somewhat sheepishly, that Sam didn’t really connect with the kids until they were old enough to do the things he liked to do.
    “Like gamble?” I asked. I was only half kidding.
    She grimaced. “Yes. He takes them to Chiefs games. They know all about point spreads.”
    I wouldn’t have a problem telling Bridget everything, but the truth is, I’m tired of talking about