Nothing too difficult this year: radishes, carrots, tomatoes, and three zucchini plants that were threatening to take over the world. There were also some cucumber plants next to the back fence that had run over into the undeveloped land behind her house and were, as far as she knew, producing great crops for the benefit of the field mice. Next year she planned to tackle the mysteries of cauliflowers, peas, and asparagus.

She'd also taken a tentative stab at flower gardening around the edges of the yard. Again, she'd started with the tried and true: lots of marigolds, some astonishingly ugly coleus, and a lot of vivid red geraniums that made up for the coleus. There were also the good old standbys alyssum, salvia, and a very puny peony that had put forth only two flowers this year, but might do better next spring.

“You know, we never stayed in one place long enough to have a real garden when I was growing up," Jane said to Shelley. "Every time my mother planted something, the State Department sent my father somewhere else. Want a cup of coffee?"

“I'd love it. Denise is having a hair crisis I'd like to escape from."

“Come on around. I'll bring it out to you." Jane put down the cats, who raced her and each other to the door. They persisted in the greedy but naive belief that she might forget that they'd been fed, and feed them again. They were always disappointed. Jane found the cans of cat food so repulsive that it was all she could do to open them once a day. She ignored their entreaties and took a mug of coffee back to the patio. "What's the crisis?" she asked, handing Shelley the mug.

“Oh, you know ... slumber party, haircutting at four A.M., tears, hysterics. I wouldn't be fourteen again for anything."

“How bad is it, really?"

“Pretty awful. She has my aggressively straight hair that goes spiky if it's too short." Jane found this hard to believe. She'd never seen so much as a wisp of Shelley's dark cap of hair out of place ... but she liked her anyway.