“STILL NO WORD from Lydia?” Jane said.
Liz had brought her laptop and phone to the backyard and was sitting in an ancient patio chair with flaking paint. She said, “Since they didn’t take their cellphones, I assume they’re not planning to be in touch until they get back to Cincinnati.”
What Jane did then was surprising: She laughed. “Lizzy,” Jane said. “Of course Lydia took her phone. She’d sooner lose a limb.”
As soon as Jane said it, Liz realized her sister was correct. “Wow,” she said. “I’m an idiot.”
“I feel like I should be there,” Jane said. “But Mom would take one look at me and know, and this doesn’t seem like the right time for her to find out.”
“You don’t need to come home. Mom’s driving me crazy and Mary’s MIA, but I don’t know what there would be for you to do.”
“It sounds silly, but I keep picturing Ham’s goatee.”
“He must take testosterone,” Liz said, and thought of Darcy.
“What I wonder is,” Jane said, “if Ham was choosing from all the male names in the world, why did he pick Ham? I know it’s short for Hamilton, but that’s still kind of odd. Do you know what his name was when he was female?”
“No,” Liz said.
“I wish I knew him better,” Jane said. “I guess now I’ll get to.”
“I shouldn’t even tell you this,” Liz said, “but there were new unopened Horchow boxes in the front hall when I got home last night, and there’s a bunch of raw steak in the refrigerator. Oh, and doughnuts on the counter. Apparently, Mom and Dad are very receptive to our concerns about their physical and financial well-being.”
“All we can do is encourage them when they make good choices,” Jane said. “We can’t micromanage their behavior. So, Lizzy, I think I felt the baby kick.”
“Wait, really?”
“It was this flutter that didn’t come from my own body.”
“That’s so exciting.”
“I know.” Then Jane said, “Promise to call me the minute you hear anything from Chicago.”