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I wanted to ask if she’d ever actually used it and decided I already knew the answer. If there were invisible boys, there were invisible snakes. QED. I settled for saying it looked very useful.

“Very necessary,” she said.

Halfway up the stairs, Allie stopped, patted her chest, and took a few deep breaths. Those hard red spots were back in her cheeks.

“Are you all right?”

“Just a few missed beats of the old ticker. It’s not serious, and I have pills. I suppose I ought to take a couple. Perhaps you’d give me a glass of water?”

“What about milk? Nothing goes better with cookies.”

“Milk and cookies sounds like a treat.”

We climbed the rest of the stairs. She sat down at the kitchen table with a soft grunt. I poured two small glasses of milk and put half a dozen oatmeal raisin cookies on a plate. Three for her, three for me was what I thought, but I ended up eating four. They really were very good.

At one point she got up and called, “Boys, no trouble and no messes! Mind your manners!”

“I’m sure they will. Are you feeling better?”

“Fine, thanks.”

“You have a little…” I tapped my upper lip.

“A milk mustache?” She actually giggled. It was sort of charming.

When I handed her a napkin from the caddy on the lazy susan, I saw her looking at my hand. “Is your wife not with you, Vic?”

I touched my ring. “No. She died.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh! I’m so sorry. Was it recent?”

“Fairly recent. Would you like another cookie?”

The lady might have been off-kilter about her children, but she knew a Keep Out sign when she saw one… or heard one. “Okay, but don’t tell my doctor.”

We chatted awhile, but not about rattlesnakes, invisible children, or dead wives. She talked about the Coronavirus. She talked about Florida politicians, who she believed were hurting the environment. She said the manatees were dying because of fertilizer runoff in the water, and encouraged me to visit Mote Marine Aquarium on City Island in Sarasota and see some, “if they’re still open.”

I asked her if she’d like a little more milk. She smiled, shook her head, got to her feet, wavered a little, then stood steady. “I have to get the boys home, it’s past their bedtime. Jake! Joe! Come on, you guys!” She paused. “There they are. What have you boys been up to?” Then, to me: “They were in that room at the end of the hall. I hope they didn’t disarrange anything.”

The room at the end of the hall was Greg’s study, where I went to read in the evenings. “I’m sure they didn’t.”

“Little boys have a tendency to clutter, you know. I may let them push the stroller back. I get tired so easily these days. Would you like that, boys?”

I saw her down the stairs to the garage, ready to grab her arm if she tottered, but the milk and cookies seemed to have pepped her up.

“I’ll just get you started,” she told the twins, and turned the stroller around. “We wouldn’t want you to bump Mr. Trenton’s car, would we?”

“Bump away,” I said. “It’s a rental.”

That made her giggle again. “Come along, kiddos. We’ll have a bedtime story.”

She pushed the pram out of the garage. The first stars were coming out and it was cooling off. July days are harsh on the Gulf Coast, I’d found that out, but the evenings can be gentle. The snowbirds miss that.

I walked with her as far as the mailbox.

“Oh, look at them, they’ve run ahead.” She raised her voice. “Not too far, boys! And watch for snakes!”

“I guess you’ll have to push the stroller yourself,” I said.