Jan was opening a small canvas bag next to it that was actually a soft-sided cooler. Inside were a small ice pack and half a dozen juice boxes, cellophane-wrapped straws stuck to the sides. She handed me one of the juice boxes and said, “Give that to Ethan.”

I took it from Jan as she finished up in the trunk and closed it. She zipped up the cooler bag and tucked it into the basket at the back of the stroller as I peeled the straw off of the sticky juice box. It, or one of the other juices in the cooler, must have sprung a tiny leak. I took the straw from its wrapper and stabbed it into the box.

Handing it to Ethan, I said, “Don’t squeeze it. You’ll have apple juice all over yourself.”

“I know,” he said.

Jan reached out and touched my bare arm. It was a warm August Saturday, and we were both in shorts, sleeveless tops, and, considering all the walking we had ahead of us, running shoes. Jan was wearing a long-visored ball cap over her black hair, which she had pulled back into a ponytail and fed through the back of the cap. Oversized shades kept the sun out of her eyes.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” I said.

She pulled me toward her, behind the stroller, so Ethan couldn’t see. “You okay?” she asked.

The question threw me off. I was about to ask her the same thing. “Yeah, sure, I’m good.”

“I know things didn’t work out the way you’d hoped yesterday.”

“No big deal,” I said. “Some leads don’t pan out. It happens. What about you? You feel better today?”

She nodded so imperceptibly it was only the tipping of the visor that hinted at an answer.

“You sure?” I pressed. “What you said yesterday, that thing about the bridge-”

“Let’s not-”

“I thought maybe you were feeling better, but when you told me that-”

She put her index finger on my lips. “I know I’ve been a lot to live with lately, and I’m sorry about that.”