Emmy was already at the townhouse when I got there Monday afternoon.

  “Babe, If I’d know you were coming here yesterday I could have taken the late flight up last night,” I told her after a long, sweet kiss hello.

  “You are here now,” she said with a pretty laugh. “It was important for you to spend time with your racing team, and I am sure that there would have been no flights by the time you finished your celebrations.”

  “No, there might not have been,” I admitted.

  “I am very pleased that Madison did so well yesterday,” Emmy said as I followed her down to the kitchen.

  “She did great,” I agreed. “Sure, she was sorta gifted her podium spot, but she did everything right and stayed calm and steady when things got crazy around her.”

  “Is she really that mature?” Emmy asked.

  “Behind the wheel she is,” I confirmed. “You have to remember, she’s been racing karts and then real cars for ten years now. Yes, this is her rookie season as a professional driver, but she has probably two hundred races under her belt, all told. She has the support of a good crew, too. Even if she doesn’t get another podium finish this season, it’s still a great way to launch.”

  “I would like to go with you to watch her race,” Emmy announced as Luisa set lunch down for us. Apparently she, Jeremy and Mia had already eaten, but Emmy had waited for me so we could eat together. “You said that her next races are in Montreal? Where else do they race this year?”

  “Well, there’s Mid Ohio, Watkins Glen and VIR, none of which are anywhere near any interesting cities. The only two race weekends that are in places you might be interested in are Montreal in four weeks and then Monterey at the end of the season,” I told her.

  “VIR?”

  "Virginia International Raceway,” I explained. “It’s way out in the middle of nowhere, far from any city of any size. I hear it’s pretty, but…” I said, shrugging.

  “I would like to go to Montreal, then,” she announced.

  “Maddie isn’t likely to do well there,” I cautioned. “She has zero track experience on that track and it has really long straights, so it’s a top speed and braking course.”

  “I do not think that matters to me. I want to go to experience the scene, that is all. If Madison wins I will be very happy for her, but if she does not, I will still be there, and that is what is important.”

  “It’s a date, then,” I said, pleased that Emmy wanted to involve herself in what was clearly my interest and not hers.

  “Do you have any plans for this afternoon?” Emmy asked once we’d finished our BLT sandwiches.

  “Maybe answer some emails, but nothing that involves leaving the house,” I replied.

  “Good,” Emmy said. “Go answer your emails. When you are done, come get me in the studio, and we will take a bath and then have sex the rest of the evening.”

  “I approve of this message,” I said with a smile, ignoring the snort of amusement I heard from Luisa’s end of the kitchen.

  True to her word, when I knocked off for the day Emmy was ready for a hot bath and then hot sex. She was in the mood for a vigorous session of lovemaking, so I got to play the beast in a way that I really hadn’t in nearly a year- since we lost Angela.

  Emmy gave herself to me completely, letting me ravish her, devour her, and have my way with her in any way I wanted. This isn’t to say that she was merely a passive recipient of my attentions- no, she was just as involved as I was.

  “I missed that very much,” Emmy groaned as our sweat cooled in the breeze coming in our window. “I will be very sore, but in a very good way.”

  “It’s been a while since we did it like that,” I agreed, enjoying her weight pressing me into the bed. “We clearly need to get back in the habit.”

  With great effort, Emmy lifted herself up to sit astride my hips in the classic cowgirl position. I slid my hands up and down the outsides of her thighs as she looked down at me.

  “I love you very much, Leah Farmer,” she said, resting her hands on mine. “It is time for us to make another baby.”

  “I’ll contact the fertility clinic when we get back to Los Angeles, and also let the lab in Korea know that we’ll need fertilized eggs soon,” I told her. “This time, no touring.”

  “No, no touring,” Emmy agreed. “I will be very careful with my diet and regular exercise. We cannot let anything happen this time.”

  “And we won’t let the public know, either,” I said. “Sure, somebody will eventually figure it out, but we’ll make sure it happens as late as possible.”

  “Do you think that you will have finished with the Marfan family by the time our baby is born?” Emmy asked.

  “Yes,” I confirmed. “We’re on schedule to get it done before the end of the year. Once we have everything ready we’ll just have to wait for the perfect moment to strike. Our timetable assumes it’ll happen in October or November.”

  “Be careful,” she said. “Our child will need both of us.”

  I spent my days at the compound that week, coming home in the evenings for dinner and then quiet nights with Emmy. My mornings were taken with helping train our hitters in the compound’s gym, then in the front building where we were setting up the new offices for our property management company. We had set aside office space in the converted ironworks for our venture capital and hospitality divisions, too, but they would sit empty for now until we staffed up.

  “I’m really glad you were willing to make this move,” I told Cathy Waters, one of our top managers from our San Jose office. “You running the show here will give us a degree of continuity.”

  “You know, it’s funny,” she said as we gazed out the old arched windows, admiring the view of the empty, unused lot between us and the East River. “When I moved to California twenty… four years ago,” she said, thinking about how long it had been, “I never expected to come back here. I never wanted to, to tell you the truth.”

  “But here you are.”

  “But here I am. I’m actually looking forward to it, you know? I think we’re gonna rent for a little while, until me and Jerry figure out where it is we want to live. It was time for us to downsize anyway, now the kids are out of the house.”

  “Are you selling your house in Sierramont?” I asked.

  “No, we’re going to keep it. We actually are going to contract it with Loeltz. Rents should cover our mortgage plus some, and we’ll just keep plowing that back into equity. Keeping it leaves options open.”

  “True enough," I agreed. “So, what do you think of the office?” I asked as we turned away to walk through the space. It was important to me that she was happy there, since the success of our company’s expansion into the New York area was going to be up to her.

  The small initial staff were scheduled to come trickling in over the next couple of weeks as they transitioned out of our other offices in Los Angeles, San Jose, and Seattle. It would be a while before this location was as robust as our two main branches, but it would get there eventually.

  Michael and I went out for lunch almost every day that week at some local eatery or another. He seemed to enjoy showing me that he’d been integrating into his new neighborhood, and as often as not the people at the restaurants recognized him, some calling him by his name when we entered.

  At one hipster American-style gastropub the waitress flirted shamelessly with Michael, and it was clear that it was a running thing between the two of them.

  “When’re you going to bring your daughter by to say hello?” she asked. “You know everybody here adores her.”

  “Amy loves it here, too,” Michael confirmed. “But she’s in school now, so…” he said, shrugging.

  “School? It’s summertime!” the waitress said.

  “Her school has a year-round schedule,” Michael said. “Her summer break is only four weeks in August.”

  “That’s a crime against humanity!” the waitress exclaimed with a smile, sweeping her beaded dreads back, making a sort of clacking noise.

  “They say it’s better for the kids,” Michael replied. “It gets her out of the house more, so that’s a good thing.”

  Laughing, she agreed that very well might be true.

  “Ricky is going to need your help soon,” I said as we ate our grass-fed artisanal beef burgers with grilled heirloom onions on locally-baked buns.

  “For how long?” Michael asked.

  “As long as it takes, I think. He’s doing really well, but actually setting up the structure of the system down there might be more in your wheelhouse than his. I’m pretty sure he can run things once you get them up and going, but…”

  “Can it wait until August? Like I told Shanice, Amy will get a bit less than a month off school, so perhaps I can take Vivian, Amy and Jassie down with me…” he said, thinking about it.

  “Vivian isn’t working yet?”

  “She’s working at Amy’s school, in the office. She can probably get that time off, especially if we frame the trip as a learning opportunity for Amy,” he said with a conspiratorial smile.

  “What would the three of them do while you’re working?” I asked.

  “It’ll probably be very hot in August, so I doubt they’ll want to step outside at all during the day, unless it’s to go to the beach,” Michael mused.

  “If they agree to go, stay at our house,” I told him. “It’ll give them enough room that they won’t feel cooped up.”

  “I had heard that you bought a house there,” Michael admitted. “Ricky told me that he hasn’t seen it, but the reports are that it is spectacular.”

  “It is,” I agreed. “Like I said, there is plenty of room. Too much room if it’s just you, but if you bring the family it’ll be perfect.”

  While we talked we texted the various involved parties and coordinated the dates. In the end, it turned out that the entire family plus Addison, Jassie’s best friend, were going to go for three weeks. Hopefully that would be all the time that Michael and Ricky would need, but if not Michael would stay when everybody else returned to the US.

  After normal office hours ended every day I headed next door to the old furniture factory to discuss things with Grant, Mr Kanawa, and a few others who were involved in planning our operation in Istanbul.

  In this case it was mostly them explaining to me about the level of current intel and giving me progress reports on the overall picture. I’d willingly handed off the running of the operation, after all.

  “I have been very pleased with my students here,” Mr Kanawa beamed, displaying a far different attitude than he’d had when I first met him. “They are very diligent, very focused. Even with the language difference, they pay attention and learn quickly.”

  “I’m very glad to hear it, but to be fair, I expected as much. These are good people, and highly motivated,” I told him.

  “I have come to understand a lot in my time here,” Mr Kanawa said. "I admit that I was resistant to your conviction that we must reveal ourselves to the world, but now I think that I may be your biggest supporter, now that I have heard so many of our peoples’ stories here.”

  “That will mean a lot when you return to Japan,” I said. “Hearing you saying it will matter to those who still fight against the idea.”

  Looking pensive, Mr Kanawa said, “I have been considering asking you if I may stay here. This new challenge- it has invigorated me. I feel years younger, with a purpose that I had begun to lack back home,” he said with Hayate translating for him. Then, with a heavy accent, he added, “I have been learning English, too.”

  “And your son?” I asked.

  “You would have to ask him. He has been training here, learning to fight Western-style. I think he has been enjoying it, but I also think that he is a bit more homesick than I am,” Mr Kanawa said, switching back to Japanese.

  “I am open to whatever you choose,” I told him. “If you want to stay, we’ll get you your Green Card. If Hideo wants to stay here, he can, too. If he wants to come to Los Angeles, that can be arranged. As far as I'm concerned it’s entirely up to you guys.”

  “Thank you,” Mr Kanawa said, bowing his head.

  “Leah, would you consider posing again?” Luisa asked after dinner one evening. We had all ‘retired to the parlor’ to chat and have some drinks, enjoying the late evening breeze coming in through the open French doors out to the little balcony.

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  “You want another portrait?” I asked Emmy, who was drifting off to sleep cuddled against me in the couch.

  “Always,” she mumbled. “But I have not asked Luisa to paint another one.”

  “No, this is, um,” she said, flustered. “You see, I’ve been teaching an adult education class in figure studies and finding models is always hard. This is through an artist’s collective, so we can’t really pay much… Usually we just have to guilt the students into taking their turns posing, you know?”

  “So, why me?”

  “Well, you’re kind of a natural,” Luisa said, warming to the topic. “You can hold a pose for forever, you have an amazing body, and you don’t seem to be too, um, shy.”

  “I can’t conclusively tell you that my very first impression of Leah was that she wasn’t shy,” Mia said with a chuckle from where she sat.

  “God, I about died of embarrassment,” Luisa agreed.

  “Leah didn’t,” Mia said, sipping her beer. “She was all cool and shit- like a boss. A giant, naked boss.”

  “Leah is an exhibitionist,” Emmy said, half asleep but still somehow paying attention to the conversation.

  “So modeling for a bunch of strangers should be perfect for her!” Mia laughed.

  “I think you should do it,” Emmy said, rousing a bit.

  “I’m only going to be here for a few more days,” I protested.

  “My class is Wednesday nights,” Luisa offered. “That’s tomorrow.”

  I thought about it for a moment, then sat up a bit to make my point more clearly.

  “I’ll do it,” I said. “But this is a personal favor for you, Luisa, and has nothing to do with our business relationship, right? In that same spirit, I’m going to ask a favor from you in exchange.”

  “You want to see her naked?” Mia asked, surprised.

  Laughing, I asked Mia, “Now just why did your mind go there so fast?” Turning to Luisa, I said, “I want another painting. I’ll pay you for it, don’t worry about that. But I want you to paint- wait, no, I want two paintings. I’ll give you two photos of Angela, and you can paint portraits from them. Is it a deal?”

  “Of course I’ll take any commission you want!” Luisa said. “I’d do that whether you posed for my class or not.”

  “You never denied you want to see Luisa naked,” Mia teased, but the rest of us ignored her.

  “What photos?” Emmy asked, finally rousing fully.

  “You know the picture of Ange in Singapore? The one with her smiling with the bay and towers in the background?” I asked.

  “I love that picture,” Emmy said, thinking about it.

  “I want to give that to Mamá and Papá,” I told her. “The painting I want for us is one of the pictures we took on Catalina- the one in front of the stucco wall, with the orange flowers.”

  “I am not sure I remember that one,” Emmy said, trying to recall the photo.

  “I’ll show it to you when we go upstairs,” I assured her.

  “So, class is from six to nine,” Luisa said. “Usually our models pose for an hour, starting at seven.”

  “Would it be O.K. if I came to watch?” Emmy asked.

  “Um, we don’t allow anybody not in the class to watch,” Luisa said apologetically. “It’s for the models’ privacy. Even if it wouldn’t pertain to you, the rule is there for a reason.”

  “I was afraid that would be the case,” Emmy said, looking disappointed.

  “O.K., second condition- Emmy gets to keep her favorite of any sketches you make of me,” I added.

  “Fair enough,” Luisa said with a little laugh. “So, um, since the weather is nice, I usually walk over. The class is over on West 57th Street. It usually takes me about half an hour to walk, but I like to get there early so I usually leave at five or so, but I guess you don’t have to be there until seven…” Luisa said, then realized she was rambling.

  “I’ll go with you at five,” I assured her.

  Jeremy made an early dinner for Luisa and me the next day, just some roast chicken sandwiches on bread he’d baked that morning. It was perfect- enough to carry us through the evening, but not so much I’d have to work to suck my tummy in when I posed.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” Luisa said as we walked west on 51st Street. “Like I said, it’s hard to find models for our class. Pretty close to impossible, actually. We’re lucky if we can get another student to pose, but actual, real live professional models? Hah!”

  “I’m not a professional model,” I objected.

  “Maybe not, but you could be. I couldn’t believe how patient you were when you sat for that portrait I did. That was phenomenal.”

  “It was uncomfortable, that’s what it was,” I replied.

  “You sure didn’t make it seem that way.”

  The setup at the art collective drawing classroom was pretty much exactly what I expected- a circle of chairs with easels facing a seat covered with a sheet for me to use as a prop while they stared at my naked body. The actual students themselves were a mixed bag, since this was an adult education class and not a college class. They ranged from a girl who looked about fourteen years old to an old guy whose hair and beard had long since gone completely white, framing his dark smiling face like a halo.

  “We have a special guest model tonight,” Luisa said once everyone had taken their seats. “My friend Leah has agreed to pose for us. She’s sat for me before, and she’s an amazing model. Now, she’s agreed to pose all evening- that’s three hours. Three times as much as our usual models and she’s agreed to this under one condition- she gets to pick her favorite sketch from each of you for her payment.”

  This came as a surprise to me, but I was O.K. with the idea. The bundle of eleven (well, twelve, counting Luisa’s) sketches would make a nice little present for Emmy when I got home.

  There was a bit of discussion about me choosing the sketches I wanted, but everybody seemed to agree that it was a fair deal. Now, all I had to do was parade around naked in front of eleven complete strangers, right?

  I’d already changed behind a dressing screen into that same kimono I’d worn before posing for Luisa, so I was ready when she indicated the chair and gave me instructions to do three five-minute warmup poses, then a quick break followed by a half hour pose. We’d do this three times, filling up the three hours.

  Looking around the room at the expectant faces, I slipped off the kimono and stepped into the middle of the room.

  There were some murmurs, but nobody said anything loud enough for me to really make out. I stepped one foot on the chair and twisted my torso for the first position, curling my fists in a classic arms-up bodybuilder pose.

  This brought me face to face with the oldest student in the class, who really did seem to have a permanent smile. I watched his face while I held the pose, seeing the way his eyes seemed to focus intently on one part of my body, then move on to the next.

  I was surprised when the timer that Luisa had started chimed, telling me it was time for the next pose. Without thinking much about it, I straddled the chair backwards, arching my back a bit and resting my forearms on the back, which was just below the level of my shoulders. I raised my feet up onto just the toes, which actually turned out to be a whole lot less comfortable than I’d expected.

  This time I watched a plump tattooed woman with too many piercings who looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties. She had less of me to draw than anybody else did, since most of my body was blocked by the chair. I made sure to look her straight in the eyes when she paid attention to my face, which seemed to fluster her a bit.

  For my third pose I moved the chair aside and hunkered down like a runner at the starting line, tensing my muscles, ready to launch.

  For once, I wasn’t actually looking at anybody, just down at the ground a few feet in front of me. This allowed me to listen to the sounds of pencils on paper coming from all around.

  When the five-minute chime let me know it was time for a short break, I stood up, stretched, and fetched the kimono. We only had a few minutes, but everybody else took the opportunity to stand up and move around a bit, too.

  “Luisa said your name is Leah?” asked the young girl.

  When I confirmed that was correct, she said, “I’m Callie. I’m really glad to have you posing for us tonight- thanks. We don’t often get real models like you.”

  “I’m actually not a real model,” I said, sipping from the bottle of Coke I’d brought. “Like Luisa said, I’m a friend, doing this as a favor.”

  “One heck of a favor,” the old guy said. “I can’t imagine doing this for any of my friends.”

  “You should give it a try- it’s freeing,” I said.

  “I’m well past the age anybody wants to see anything I’ve got,” he said with a broad smile, his teeth white in his dark face.

  “Does it matter?” I asked. “Da Vinci sketched wrinkled little old ladies just as often as hot young guys, right? This is about seeing what’s there and translating it onto paper, using your own artistic sensibilities. I’m sure Callie here would be just as happy to sketch you as she is to sketch me.”

  “I seriously doubt that,” the old guy said with a chuckle.

  “Alright, time for the half-hour pose,” Luisa announced, so the students took their seats while I tossed the kimono to the side. I reset the chair into the middle of the circle and sat on the edge, leaning the chair back on its two rear feet with my legs straight out in front, crossed at the ankles. I laced my fingers together behind my head and looked up at the ceiling to complete the pose. Just listening to the scratching of the pencils, the shuffling around of the bodies, and the breathing of the artists as they focused on their work was a bit meditative and time passed surprisingly quickly.

  The next two hours went the same. I’d been worried that three hours would be far too long, but it really didn’t seem that way at all and the evening passed in no time.

  Once I was dressed in my street clothes again after all the posing, I wandered around the room, looking at everybody’s artworks. Some were clearly more advanced than others, but everyone had done their best in their own surprisingly distinctive styles.

  I made sure to get everyone’s signatures on the sketches I claimed for my own, thanking each and every one for their art. Thankfully Luisa had a folio I could use to bring them all back home- even though everybody had sprayed fixative on their sketches, they probably would have all gotten smudged and damaged if I’d just simply bundled them up.

  The artists all thanked me, too, and pretty much every one said that I was the best model they’d had and they’d love it if I could pose again in the future. I made some noncommittal noises to that, but honestly, I wasn’t opposed to the idea. Maybe I really was an exhibitionist, after all.

  Emmy loved the surprise gift of a dozen sketches of me. Of course Luisa’s was phenomenal, but a few of the others were really good, too. Interestingly, Emmy’s favorite one drawn by a student was the heavyset girl’s view of me facing her over the back of the chair.

  “She captured your eyes so well!” Emmy exclaimed, proudly waving the drawing around.

  “I’m both surprised and not surprised by that,” I said, amused. “Not surprised, since I was staring right at her while she sketched that pose, but surprised it turned out so well, since she seemed really embarrassed and could hardly look me in the eyes.”

  “I bet,” Mia said, leafing through the stack of drawings. “I’d have a hard time concentrating if some giant freaking naked amazon was staring me down, too.”

  “Leah was a great model,” Luisa said. “She said she might pose for my class again sometime.”

  “You did?” Emmy asked, her eyes wide. “I must sign up for this class so that I might see!”

  “I pose for you all the time, babe,” I said.

  “Perhaps you could pose for me tonight?” Emmy asked, looking hopeful.

  “Get a room, you two!” Mia exclaimed.

  “I think that is an excellent idea,” Emmy agreed, reaching out to take my hand and guide me upstairs.

  “How was it, posing nude for a group of strangers?” Emmy asked once she’d disrobed me in our room and commanded me to pose for her alone.

  “I didn’t really think about it,” I answered truthfully. “I was there, doing a thing I’d committed to, and that was it, really.”

  “I could not do that,” Emmy said.

  “You posed nude for the cover of Rolling Stone magazine!” I protested.

  “Yes, but that was different,” Emmy countered. “It was a closed photography studio, and the only people there were the photographer, his assistant, and you. The photos didn’t really show anything, either. Nobody was going to see images of my private parts. But you- several of those poses… The artists got very good views of parts of you that are generally not considered public.”

  “Yeah, they did,” I agreed with a shrug. “But so what? I mean, they’re artists in a figure drawing class, right? They see naked people every week.”

  “But they do not see you,” Emmy countered. “In that way I am very much more fortunate than they are. I get to enjoy your nudity quite frequently.”

  “Speaking of which, you seem to have far too many clothes on for my taste,” I said. “Take ‘em off, missy.”

  What with one thing or another, the hot sexy times I was hoping for turned into a tickle fight, then a sweaty makeout session, followed by a nice cuddle leading to sleep. As awesome as great sex might be, sometimes other things can be pretty freaking great, too.

  I left New York satisfied that things were ticking along nicely when Emmy and I took off for the West Coast on Thursday night. The office was looking solid, and our military preparations were shaping up, too.

  I had a day scheduled at the San Jose office on Friday and some site inspections on Saturday, and of course, the speakeasy both nights. Emmy assured me that she didn’t mind a day by herself at the condo and in fact really did want to go to the club with me, so we had a few days together that I’d expected we’d be spending apart.

  Emmy seemed right at home there at the club and I was very pleased to have her there with me. Of course, spending time with Emmy was always good, but there was something a little bit special about showing her off, too. After all, I was married to one of the world’s sexiest women, right? Seriously, who gets to say that? We were in a nightclub filled with multimillionaires and billionaires, but I had something none of them ever would.

  Imogen and James came by the club on Saturday night and spent a bit over an hour at our table. James and I mostly talked about Madison and how pleased we were at her work ethic and how we couldn’t wait to see how she was going to do next season, once she’d had a full year with the car.

  James tried to talk me into doing a track day with him up by Salt Lake City at a track neither of us had driven before, but I told him that I was swamped for at least the next month.

  “Have you even taken your new BMW out for a shakedown yet?” he asked.

  “No. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I haven’t even seen it in person yet.”

  “That is a crime against motorsport,” he admonished me. “Let’s do it. Just a weekend, that’s all. Fly in, drive like the proverbial bat, then fly home on Sunday night. Let the guys clean up the mess.”

  “Private day? Just the two of us?”

  “Well, Maddie, too, if we arrange it right. She can use it as a testing day. It’ll mean a lot of driving for Reggie and the guys, but that’s what they’re getting paid for, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s true,” I agreed. “O.K., see what dates you can get the track, and give me some options,” I said.

  That settled, we turned to our wives, to see what they were talking about. As it turned out, the Athertons were scheduled to close on their Manhattan co-op in a little over a week, so they were planning on spending some time getting their new place decorated and furnished. Emmy had given Imogen the name of the designer we’d used, but promised to help Imogen select art for the new apartment.

  “You do not mind that I promised Imogen that we would spend time together in New York?” Emmy asked on the flight back to Burbank.

  “No, not at all,” I replied. “Realistically we’re looking at September, right? I probably should spend a lot of that time making sure everything is going according to plan, and that’s the place I’ll need to be, so that works well for me, too.”

  “I worry,” Emmy said, her voice soft.

  “I don’t,” I assured her, resting my hand on hers. “I’m not going to say that it won’t be risky- well, outright dangerous, realistically- but almost all of our planning is on how we can mitigate risk while optimizing positive outcome.”

  “You are making it should like some sort of merger or acquisition,” Emmy laughed.

  “Hostile takeover,” I nodded. “Very, very hostile.”

  “Very hostile indeed,” Emmy agreed with a little laugh, but I could see that she wasn’t as big a fan of my dark humor as I was. But then, as Joseph Stalin once famously said, ‘black humor is like food- not everyone gets it.’

  Our Wednesday night dinner party on the third of July was very strange. There was a serious pall hanging over everybody, since it was one day shy of the anniversary of the Atlanta attack. We were all acutely aware of that fact, and it colored the evening, but as the night went on, a strange thing happened- somehow the party morphed into a sort of wake for Angela. It became a celebration of her life, with us all telling stories about her, and recounting moments that we’d felt perfectly summed up her personality.

  I recounted the day Angela and I had gone to Catalina, and how she’d posed for nude photos in the botanical gardens, almost getting caught in the buff by a troop of Girl Scouts. I even produced the photo of Angela in her hot pink bikini that had so upset the old woman when her husband couldn’t stop staring.

  Jenna told us all about how determined Angela had been to find the perfect repaired broken chinaware the day they went shopping in Tokyo, and how she had dragged their little group into every shop that she thought might possibly have a set of kintsugi dinnerware. Jenna grabbed a ceramic bowl laced with gold streaks from the kitchen to show off that yes, Angela did eventually find what she’d looked for.

  It went on like that for a while, and somehow we collectively turned our sorrow on its head, and amongst the tears we found honest laughs and smiles.

  I once read a description of traditional New Orleans funeral marching bands. It said that on the way to the cemetery they play slow and sad, so everyone will think of all the dying that we have to do. On the way back from the cemetery, though, they play fast and happy so everyone will think of all the living they still have yet to do.

  Without any planning, this is what happened for us that night. By the time everyone said goodnight, we were all in a much better space than we had been.

  “I have been thinking about the painting you asked Luisa for- the portrait of Angela for her parents. I would like to give it to them in person. I would like the two of us to go and deliver it together,” Emmy said as we settled into bed.

  “I’d figured we would,” I agreed. “I’ve been waffling on whether the other one goes up in London or the new house in Cartagena.”

  “I had been thinking New York, but perhaps you are right. Either one of those houses might be more appropriate,” Emmy said, considering it.

  “Yeah, maybe not,” I said as I gave it more thought. “Ange loved the Manhattan townhouse, but she never set a foot in either the completed penthouse or the place in Colombia. Yeah, they might have some sort of connection to her, but this house and the townhouse both have memories.”

  “That is true, too,” Emmy agreed. “Perhaps I should ask Luisa to make us four paintings,” she said. I took some comfort in the fact that she could joke like that. Maybe we really were ready to move on.

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