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“A real doctor?”

“No,” she said, smiling. “A therapist we see who specializes in marriage counseling.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t realized she and her husband were seeing a marriage counselor, but it didn’t completely surprise me. I heard her suck in air the way someone who was in pain would. She wiped her eyes before any tear could emerge.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Oh, just silly stuff, I’m sure.”

There was a bench at the lake so people could sit and look out at the water. She sat, and I sat beside her. It was very quiet, the only sound being the gentle lapping of the water against the rowboats as the breeze combed the top of the lake and sent ripples across its surface. The sky was spotted here and there with small puffs of clouds. They looked dabbed on a blue velvet canvas.

“Donald might be having an affair or affairs,” she revealed, still staring at the water. “I was with someone last night who is convinced of it and couldn’t wait to let me know. People can be like that, you know, especially your so-called good friends, so be aware of it.”

“Be like what?” I asked. Her words had nearly stolen away my breath.

“Eager to give you bad news and watch you wallow in it.”

“Why would friends be like that if they’re your friends?”

She smiled. “You’ll find out soon enough, if you haven’t already, that there are friends and there are friends. What you have most of the time are acquaintances. A real friend is so rare that if you have three during your entire lifetime, you’re a very fortunate person, and that applies to relatives as well. Most will be envious or think themselves superior. A real friend would have avoided giving me any bad news for as long as possible and not jumped at the opportunity to tell me there was a possibility of it.”

“Don’t have anything to do with her anymore,” I said.

She smiled again. “I won’t go out of my way to spend private time with her, but if I peeled off all the, quote, friends I have who are like her, I’d be a pretty lonely person, especially with a husband who is off so much.”

“Don’t you have any real friends?”

“Not lately,” she said. “I did when I was at school.” Her face warmed at the memories. “Our destinies took us in different directions, but I would bet anything that if we were together again, we’d be like two people who never left each other. I’m sure you’ll have friends like that, too, when you go to college.” She sighed deeply and then looked at me as if she had just realized she had been saying these things to me.

“I hope so.”

She smiled for a few seconds and then shut it off as she would a flashlight. “Please promise you will never mention any of this to Kiera. I don’t want to add to her personal difficulties,” she said.

“I wouldn’t.”

“You know better than anyone how clever she can be with her questions.”

“I won’t say anything. I promise, but are you sure your husband is doing these things?”

“No. Nowadays, especially here, people just assume everyone will. It’s as if infidelity is part of the air we breathe or something. Of course, many couples who experience the loss Donald and I have experienced often do drift apart. That was one of the reasons we began with a therapist. Ironically, Kiera’s problems have kept Donald and me closer, although we do get into arguments about her. He was always making excuses for her, and you know firsthand what that led to. I think, however, that after it all came to a head with her nearly killing herself, his eyes lost that rose-colored haze, and he finally began to see the truth. Maybe that is what drives him to work harder and stay away longer,” she added, almost as a hope.

I was listening to her and for the most part thought she might be right, but what I was thinking about under it all was how easily she could reveal these things to me and not worry about how it would affect me. Why wasn’t she afraid of disturbing me as much as she was afraid of disturbing Kiera? Why did we have to be sure Kiera didn’t know there were any storms brewing in her family and home?

The answer was that no matter how much she did for me, how much she wanted me to feel like her daughter, she couldn’t make that leap to a place reserved for only a naturally born child, one who carried the blood of her own family. We shared no ancestry unless we went back to Adam and Eve.

“Oh!” She suddenly gasped. “I’m so sorry to be burdening you with any of this. Look at me, feeling sorry for myself with you, of all people, after all you have suffered. You must think me as selfish as Kiera.”

“No,” I said. “I’m happy you feel comfortable enough with me to talk about it,” I added, not wanting to give her any other reason for sorrow.

“Are you? How grown up of you to say it. I must confess, you are much more mature than I was at your age, but I grew up in a home where being mature wasn’t as necessary. Someone was always there to mop up, if you know what I mean.”

“Like Kiera,” I said. Maybe I said it too quickly. I saw her wince.

“Yes, like Kiera. You would think I would have known better, but Donald . . .”

“I understand,” I said.

She nodded and patted me on my hand. “You do, don’t you? I’m so grateful to have you here. You’re becoming my true friend, and I hope I’m becoming yours.”