“Water retention,” I said.

“Or lying in bed with a heating pad for three days a month,” Mother said.

“I think I like the anxiety attacks best,” Viola said. “When I went off the ammenerol, so I could have Twidge, I'd have these days where I was convinced the space station was going to fall on me.”

A middle-aged woman in overalls and a straw hat had come over while Viola was talking and was standing next to Mother's chair. “I had these mood swings,” she said. “One minute I'd feel cheerful and the next like Lizzie Borden.”

“Who's Lizzie Borden?” Twidge asked.

“She killed her parents,” Bysshe said. “With an ax.”

Karen and the docent glared at both of them. “Aren't you supposed to be working on your math, Twidge?”

“I've always wondered if Lizzie Borden had PMS,” Viola said, “and that was why--”

“No,” Mother said. “It was having to live before tampons and ibuprofen. An obvious case of justifiable homicide.”

“I hardly think this sort of levity is helpful,” Karen said, glowering at everyone.

“Are you our waitress?” I asked the straw-hatted woman hastily.

“Yes,” she said, producing a slate from her overalls pocket.

“Do you serve wine?” I asked.

“Yes. Dandelion, cowslip, and primrose.”

“We'll take them all.”

“A bottle of each?”

“For now. Unless you have them in kegs.”

“Our specials today are watermelon salad and choufleur gratine,” she said, smiling at everyone. Karen and the docent did not smile back. «You hand-pick your own cauliflower from the patch up front. The floratarian special is sautйed lily buds with marigold butter.»