“Saturday morning,” David said.

“Before it gets hot.”

“Saturday morning.” Martha smoothed her apron.

“And I found a picture in the closet I want to show you, Sarah.

Saturday, when we do the bulbs.”

“Of what?”

“Saturday.”

When she carried the plates in, the towel slid off the chair onto the bricks and she left it lying there, and the crack in the seat looked longer than it had at five o’clock.