Evelyn told Poppy how I used to climb trees barefoot and once convinced her we could catch the moon in a bucket of water.

I protested that most of those stories were exaggerated.

“Most?” Evelyn asked.

“Some.”

Poppy laughed until frosting came out of the corner of her mouth.

After everyone left, Evelyn and I stood on the porch.

She had her mother’s ring on her finger.

Its stone caught the last sunlight, making a little flash against the railing.