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“This wouldn’t have anything to do with Ruth coming home?” asked Patterson when Vivian proposed moving to Oregon.

“Of course not.” She hadn’t stayed in one place this long since she’d left home, she explained. Houston seemed a little tired, didn’t he think? And she’d passed through Oregon years before. The emerald landscape, those forests of towering fir trees. Wouldn’t it make a nice change?

“I know someone at Bonneville,” said Patterson. “I could see if there’s anything there for me.”

There was. They sent their furniture off in a van and flew to western Oregon. A fairy-tale land where giant trees dripped with rain and enormous toadstools sprouted overnight. A magical place to hide out. Until Tom called and told her the news.

“It can’t be true,” she said to Patterson. George was one of the healthiest people she knew. All those balanced meals. All that exercise at that ridiculous country club.

“You should go,” said Patterson.

“To Enid? I’d just be in the way.”

But he insisted. “I was supposed to visit Susan before she ...” He could never bring himself to say crashed. “But I didn’t get my request in on time. They pushed my leave back a week, and by then—” By then, Vivian remembered, he’d needed that leave to attend his wife’s funeral.

“Besides,” he continued. “You should be there for Ruth.” He said the name lightly. Weeks ago, he’d told her Ruth had telephoned. A call she still hadn’t returned, because she didn’t want to face Ruth’s questions.

She’d saved all of Ruth’s letters in her desk drawer, tied with a ribbon, like letters from a sweetheart.

She wished she had a similar stack from Ivy.

Now that Ruth was back home, they no longer wrote one another.

Vivian still sent an occasional letter to Ivy.

She doubted they ever reached her. That was easier than imagining Ivy receiving them and not replying.

Patterson took her by the shoulders. “Vivian, you’re her best friend.”

In Enid, she found Helen in George’s kitchen, drying a stack of casserole dishes.

“We’re getting three or four a week. She can’t possibly eat it all,” said Helen.

“I’ve frozen whatever will freeze. That one,” she said, indicating a lasagna on the counter, “you all can eat tonight. I’ll heat it up before I go home.

There’s a list on the counter of people who need thank-you notes.

You can handle some of those while you’re here. ”

“Of course,” said Vivian, grateful to be taken charge of, and even more grateful that Ruth was at work.

George reclined against a mountain of pillows on the living room couch.

When Vivian walked in, she snatched up a silk scarf and draped it over her head, then pulled it off again.

“I’m not going to hide it from you,” she said.

Her hair was cropped short, patches of it missing.

Vivian hadn’t realized that someone’s skin could look so ashen.

She hung back, afraid to approach this fragile creature.

“Oh, get over here,” said George. “You aren’t really going to come all the way from Oregon and not hug me.”

Vivian put her arms gently around her friend, but George pulled her close, her touch as peaceful and soothing as it always had been. “Now,” said George when they released one another, “I have a few things to say about this Oregon business.”

Vivian laughed, relieved. George was still herself. Surely that meant she’d be okay.

Ruth joined them later for lasagna. She didn’t mention anything about Vivian not returning her phone call.

Conversation at the table dragged. Ruth kept asking George how she felt.

George kept saying, “Fine, sweetheart.” Vivian couldn’t seem to find her own tongue.

As soon as they finished eating, George pleaded exhaustion and went to bed.

“Thank you for all your letters,” said Ruth as she and Vivian cleared the table. “Mail meant a lot over there.”

“Not at all,” said Vivian. “I looked forward to yours too.” Ruth swiped at the table.

She hadn’t met Vivian’s eyes all evening.

Which had left Vivian free to stare at this tall, striking young woman.

This Ruth carried herself with such authority—not like the shy child Vivian remembered.

This Ruth looked as if she’d have no qualms at all about asking questions.

What better time than now, when it was just the two of them.

Vivian was prepared to dodge and deflect, admit nothing at all.

“Would you mind washing up?” asked Ruth, stretching her arms above her head and yawning. “I’m beat, and I have an early shift tomorrow.”

“Not at all,” Vivian repeated. Moving to Oregon now seemed silly. Ruth didn’t even want to talk to her. Vivian washed up, wiped down the counters. Then she went outside and rocked and smoked in the glider, trying to think about something besides Ruth’s disappointing lack of interest.

Helen arrived at eight sharp the next morning. “We have a full day today,” she said, looking askance at Vivian’s robe. Vivian hurried to get dressed. When she returned to the kitchen, Helen had a list of dishes that needed returning, of thank-you notes to write, of prescriptions to pick up.

“Helen,” said George, startling them both from the kitchen doorway.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll go back to my couch.

And I’m perfectly capable of getting myself there, thank you, Vivian.

” Vivian stepped back and dropped her arms. No one liked to be treated like an invalid—not even an invalid.

“As I was saying,” George continued, “Helen, I’d love to spend a little time with Vivian while she’s here.

Couldn’t she be spared some of the errands? For today anyway?”

Helen clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth but didn’t argue. A moment later she was out the door. George giggled. “I feel like a teenager with the house to myself when she goes.”

“I could call up some boys,” joked Vivian.

They spent the morning sipping coffee and catching up until Vivian noticed the skin beneath George’s eyes darkening. “I’m exhausting you,” she said.

“No. Well, yes. But I like it.”

“I’ll let you rest. We can talk more later.”

George burrowed lower into her nest of pillows. As Vivian unfolded a blanket to drape over her, she said, “I think it’s time we tell the girls.”

Vivian froze. The blanket hung still in her hands.

“They’re old enough to know,” insisted George. She raised herself from the mound of pillows, and Vivian quickly spread the blanket over her, tucked it around her shoulders.

“Shhh,” she said. “We can talk about it later.” George relaxed back into her nest.

Once her friend’s breath steadied, Vivian tiptoed to the kitchen to call Patterson and let him know she’d be home sooner than expected.