“Good morning, Francie! Good morning, Francie, my niece,” Peter exclaimed in his husky voice. “Today is your big day.” He lumbered into the living room, where Francie was assembling her outfit for the afternoon. “Graduation day,” he added. “Where’s your cap and gown?”

Francie smiled at him. “Unfortunately, we don’t get caps and gowns. It’s just eighth-grade graduation. So this is what I’ll be wearing.” She pointed to the black skirt and white blouse she had laid on the back of a chair. “The boys wear black pants and white shirts.”

“No caps?” Peter asked.

Francie shook her head. “Sorry. But there will be singing. The graduates — all the eighth graders — are going to stand on risers and sing songs we’ve been learning in chorus.”

When Peter continued to look disappointed, Francie added, “We get diplomas, though. Rolled up and tied with gold and blue ribbons. Gold and blue are our school colors.”

“Well,” said Peter after a moment. “Okay.”

Sadie wandered into the living room, sniffed at Francie’s outfit, then crossed the room and sat at Peter’s feet. He reached down to stroke her head. “What do I wear to your graduation, Francie?” he asked.

By now Francie knew her uncle well enough to realize that what he was really asking was whether her graduation was an opportunity for him to wear his good suit, which he adored.

“Ever since my brother was a little boy,” Dana said once to Francie, “he has loved getting dressed up.”

“You get to wear your suit,” Francie told Peter now. “And Dana and I bought you a new tie to go with it.”

“Really? A new tie? Thank you, thank you!”

Peter threw his arms around Francie and gave her a bear hug.

Francie smiled again. She was trying very hard to be excited about her graduation, but she had a feeling she wasn’t nearly as excited about it as Peter was. She knew that the graduation should mark the beginning of new adventures, of the next step in her education, blah, blah, blah. But all Francie could see were ends of things. The end of middle school, the separation from Kaycee, who would soon follow her brother to school in Pennsylvania. Sure, Francie would join Amy at Princeton High, but Amy would be a year ahead of her, and Francie would start off in the fall as a lowly freshman without her best friend at her side. It was not appealing.

“But you know we’re still going to be best friends,” Kaycee kept saying. “We’re best friends for always. We’ll still see each other after school —”

“You won’t get home until almost five every day.”

“Then we’ll see each other on weekends.”

“It won’t be the same. These are the kinds of things parents tell you when they’re getting divorced. ‘Just think of all the one-on-one time we’ll have.’ ‘We’ll still be able to see each other half of each week.’ But it really isn’t the same, and everyone knows it.”

Kaycee had sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you. I still feel like we’ll be best friends our whole lives. Think about it: Even if I were going to go to Princeton High with you, eventually, we’d go to different colleges. Did you think our friendship would end then?”

“No,” Francie had muttered.

Now she looked at her uncle, at his open, happy face, and she smiled. “I’d better get going. I’ll see you at the ceremony this afternoon.”

*  *  *

The John Witherspoon Middle School graduation was to be held at two o’clock that afternoon. At one thirty, the eighth-grade girls were directed to the girls’ locker room and the boys were directed to the boys’ locker room. They changed into their black-and-white outfits, and shortly before two, they lined up in the gym. The weather had “cooperated” (as Matthew would say), and the ceremony was to be held outdoors. The bleachers for the students had been set up facing rows of metal folding chairs for the guests.

“Can you believe this day is here?” Kaycee whispered to Francie as they jostled to line up alphabetically.

“I really can’t,” Francie replied, once again feeling a sense of melancholy wash over her.

“Places, students!” called the vice principal. “Right now!”

Francie and Kaycee hugged briefly, then rushed to their spots in the line. Francie could hear the school band tuning up, and as the graduates finally filed out the door and toward the bleachers, the band began playing “Pomp and Circumstance.”

Francie gazed straight ahead (at the back of Robin Glover’s neck) until she had reached her spot on the bleachers. Then she turned and faced the audience. At first, all she could see was row after row of heads glistening in the June sunshine. How would she ever locate her family? She held up her hand to shield her eyes from the glare and suddenly she caught sight of an arm waving wildly. “Francie, my niece!” called an excited voice.

Peter, of course. He was half standing, resplendent in his suit and his new tie. Dana tugged him back into his chair, and that was when Francie realized that seated all together in a row were her mother, Peter, Adele, Matthew, and Matthew’s latest girlfriend, Maura. Melissa/Melanie was a thing of the past. She had been followed by Valerie, then Kim, and now Maura. Francie detected something different in Matthew’s relationship with Maura, though. It was steadier. It had started more slowly. And Matthew had taken greater care when he’d introduced Francie to Maura. Francie thought Maura might one day become her stepmother, although Matthew had said no such thing.

How could Dana stand it? Francie wondered. There she was, sitting four seats away from the woman her ex-husband was probably going to marry, with no spouse of her own on the horizon. Yet she looked perfectly calm. Dana had not dated one single solitary guy since the divorce. She had thrown herself into her painting and her writing, and then into providing a home for Peter. She never said a word about being lonely or about wanting a husband, and she seemed content enough to spend time occasionally with Matthew and Maura.

“I don’t get it,” Francie had said more than once to Kaycee. “I just don’t get it.”

“Does she seem happy?” Kaycee had wanted to know.

“Well, yes.”

Kaycee had shrugged. “Then I guess she’s okay with the way things are.”

Francie had let the subject drop.

Graduation officially began when Junette Shavers blew a note on her oboe and the band played the first bar of “You Are the Sunshine of My Life.” After two stanzas, the graduates joined in the song, swaying from side to side in time with the music. Francie saw Peter swaying in the audience, bumping shoulders alternately with Dana and Adele, who smiled indulgently at him. For some reason, this sight made her tear up and, for several moments, she was unable to sing. Robin Glover glanced curiously at her, but Francie stared straight ahead, willing her tears to dry up and her throat to open up.

After two more songs, the principal, Ms. Danow, walked to a microphone that had been placed before the risers. She welcomed the guests, saying, “Thank you all for coming to honor the John Witherspoon class of nineteen eighty-four as they reflect on their years here and set out on the path to their futures with open minds and open arms.”

In the audience, Peter stealthily pulled a package of M&M’s out of his pocket. Dana noticed this immediately, took the package from him, and dropped it into her purse.

“We will now,” Ms. Danow continued, “announce the winners of our eighth-grade awards. Award recipients will be presented their plaques along with their diplomas. We’ll start with our scholastic achievements. The John Barr Award for excellence in science goes to Genetha Gray. The Hamilton Palmer Mathematics Award goes to Kendall LaPlaca….”

Francie grew so interested in watching Peter, who apparently had hidden a second bag of M&M’s in his pocket and was now surreptitiously eating the candies, that she almost missed hearing Ms. Danow say, “And finally, the John Witherspoon Award for excellence in written composition goes to Frances Goldberg.”

Francie jumped at the sound of her name and grinned when her family leaped to their feet and began applauding, Peter scattering M&M’s as he did so.

*  *  *

Half an hour later, the ceremony was over and the graduates, shirts untucked, ribboned diplomas stuffed into their pockets, streamed off the bleachers and onto the lawn, where they joined their families.

“Francie!” Kaycee called. “Over here!”

Francie, who hadn’t yet located her parents in the shouting, jostling crowd, turned in the direction of Kaycee’s voice. They ran into each other’s arms.

“We did it!” cried Francie.

Kaycee pointed to the plaque Francie was clutching. “Way to go! Excellence in composition. You’re going to be a writer someday, just like your mom.”

“And my grandfather,” said Francie.

“Girls! Look this way!”

Francie and Kaycee turned around to find Kaycee’s father aiming his camera at them. They grinned. Then they grinned for Matthew’s camera, for Dana’s camera, for Mrs. Noble’s camera, for Adele’s camera, and finally, for Peter’s old Instamatic.

When the picture taking ended, Kaycee pulled Francie aside and whispered urgently, “Guess what! We just got invited to a party.”

“A party? What party?”

“Tonight. At Junette’s house. Everyone is going. It’s a boy-girl party.”

“Are you sure we’re invited?” asked Francie.

“It’s like I said. Everyone is invited. Junette’s going up to anyone and saying they can come. It’s sort of spur-of-the-moment.”

Adele put her arms around Francie and Kaycee. “What’s all the whispering, girls?”

“We got invited to a party!” exclaimed Francie. “A boy-girl party. Do you mind if I go, Adele? I know you’re only spending one night with us.” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Dana,” she said. “Come here.” She tugged her mother away from Matthew and Maura. “Junette’s having a party tonight and she’s inviting everyone. Can I go? Please?”

“Who’s Junette?” asked Dana. “Where are her parents? I need to talk to them.”

“Mom! You can’t do that! That’s so embarrassing.” Francie looked helplessly at Kaycee, who was saying to her own parents, “It’s the first time Junette’s ever invited us to anything. Please, can we go?”

“If we talk to her parents first,” said Mr. Noble. “We have to make sure they’ll be on hand tonight.”

“Dad, no!” cried Kaycee.

“Honey, all we need to do is talk to them.”

“Absolutely,” agreed Dana.

“We’re not babies,” said Francie and Kaycee.

“Exactly. You’re teenagers,” said Kaycee’s mother. “We need to know that there won’t be any drinking or —”

“Mom!” cried Kaycee again.

“I’m sorry. No party unless we talk to the parents,” said Dana.

“Oh, man,” said Francie. “Then I guess I’ll just stay home tonight. Thank you for ruining my life.”

*  *  *

Francie’s anger dwindled as the day went on. It was hard to stay angry during a pizza celebration at Conte’s with the Nobles and later at home as she was presented with gifts from her parents and Adele and Peter.

“Do you like it? It’s a journal,” said Peter as Francie tore the paper off a gift that her uncle had apparently wrapped himself. “I bought it with my own money.”

“It’s wonderful,” said Francie. “Thank you.” She hugged her uncle.

It was later, after Peter had gone to bed and Matthew and Maura had left, that Adele suddenly seemed to droop on the living room couch.

“Tired?” Dana asked her. “It was a long day.”

Francie flopped onto the couch beside her aunt. “I’m tired, too,” she admitted, and then leaned over to whisper to Adele, “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m glad I didn’t go to Junette’s party after all.”

Adele gave her a half smile.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” said Dana, settling herself on the arm of the couch.

Adele didn’t answer, so Dana, frowning, said, “Francie, put on the water for tea.”

Francie left the living room but returned as fast as she could, just in time to hear Adele say, “… wasn’t going to tell you right away, but the cancer is back. I got the test results the day before yesterday. There’s a spot on my lung and several spots on my bones.”

Dana sagged against Adele. “Oh no.”

“The doctors say there are lots of things they can try,” Adele went on. “More chemo. But nothing they can operate on.”

Dana leaned forward, head bowed. “No,” she said. “I thought you were out of the woods. I thought this was over. It can’t be.”

Adele pressed her fingers to her lips and said nothing further.

After a moment, Dana put her arms around her aunt and rocked her back and forth.

Francie pressed her fingers against her eyes.

Finally, Adele forced a smile. “No more surgery,” she said shakily. “At least I won’t have to go under the knife again.”

Francie couldn’t speak. She sat down on the couch, and she and her mother hugged Adele from both sides. “I love you,” she said into Adele’s shoulder.