We talked for another twenty minutes about ordinary things: Phoenix traffic, her architecture work, the dreadful tendency of hotel conference rooms to be freezing.

When we parted, I realized that the woman in the red dress was no longer a symbol in a story about my old marriage.

She was a person finding her own way out of the Holloway-like world the Colemans had constructed around themselves.

I wished her well, and I meant it.

PART 13

The First Birthday He Attended

The quadruplets turned nine in spring.

For years their birthday had been ours: four cakes, because each child deserved to choose a flavor, and a backyard full of friends who understood that the same date did not make them the same person.