"Can you see the water?" Annie asked, clumping up the stairs.

"It's beautiful."

"Oh, look, a sailboat."

"This is my widow's walk," Betty said.

It would be worth everything, Annie thought, if her mother could be happy here. Betty's hair, a very pretty auburn created at great expense by an Italian colorist at Frederic Fekkai, was surrounded by a nimbus of light. Annie put her arms around her and rested her cheek on the auburn head. Outside, in the distance, gulls wheeled in the blue sky. "Don't be sad," she said.

"Oh no." Betty patted her daughter's hand to reassure her. "I'm a merry widow."

This, to Annie and Miranda's surprise, turned out to be all too true. In the days to come, not only was Betty merry, but she insisted that she was, literally, a widow.

"Poor, dear Joseph," she said when they finally accepted Cousin Lou's invitation to dinner. "God rest his soul."

Lou raised an eyebrow and looked at Annie. Annie shrugged. "Mom's a widow," she said. "Didn't you know?"

"Don't be fresh," Betty said, and swept into the living room in her black linen pants and tunic.

Cousin Lou was not one to argue with anyone who was kind enough to accept his hospitality. He took Annie and Miranda, each on one arm, and escorted them into the big living room that overlooked the water. They were on a hill, and their view of the Sound was unimpeded except by the many figures who stood in front of the glass walls. There was an artist and a pianist, a Holocaust scholar, a psychiatrist, a young Internet mogul, several Wall Street people, two surgeons, an architect, and a lawyer — all of them with spouses, all of their spouses with their own careers. Lou introduced all his guests simply by their first names, as if they were family pets, even patting their heads now and then. It was only after he steered Annie and Miranda over to a woman dressed in white and perched on the arm of the sofa who, he reminded them, was his wife, that they learned in great detail the last names and occupations of the guests they had just been introduced to.