“You seen Mike lately? Man looks ten years younger. And that woman of his—solid gold, I’m telling you. Sophie already calls him Daddy.”
“Get out of here,” the neighbor said.
“Cross my heart,” Ellen answered.
The neighbor looked over the fence into the Garrison yard. Mike was fixing something by the barn and whistling under his breath. Sarah stood by the summer kitchen, braiding her hair, sun-browned and laughing at something to herself.
“Well,” the neighbor said, “good for them.”
That evening the three of them sat on the porch. The sun was going down over the field. Slow, the way it always does in summer, long and beautiful. The sky was pink and gold, and the first stars showed in the darker part of it. It was warm. The air smelled of freshly cut grass somewhere nearby and a little bit of manure, the normal living smell of a working farm.
Sophie fell asleep between them, leaning against Mike, one fist wrapped around Sunny’s tail, and Sunny lay on the step beside her. She fell asleep quickly and easily, the way children do when they’ve run hard and played hard and have nothing to worry about. Mike said softly:
“I’m glad you knocked.”
Sarah smiled, looking out over the field.
“I barely did. I thought I’d stand there another minute or two and then leave.”
“Good thing you didn’t.”
She turned and looked at him, then rested her head on his shoulder. They sat there while the sky darkened and the stars came out one by one. Inside the house, the light was on.
