I wake to a pounding noise coming from outside

   my apartment. I drag myself out of bed and make my way to the door. Through the screen I see Evvie in a bathing suit, one of her collection of wild Hawaiian designs. Her red hair, now sprinkled with gray, is curly as always from the humidity. She looks so much like our mother with her softer, round body. Unlike tall, angular me, who resembles our father. She carries a matching towel on her arm.

  "Good morning, sleepyhead," she says cheerfully.

  I force my bleary eyes to focus. "What time is it?"

  "Time to get moving. You missed morning exer cises. I figured jet lag, so we let you sleep. Rise and shine. Get your swimsuit on."

  "Coffee," I mumble. "Shower."

  "Okay. A quick cup and a quick wash and get on down. See you at the pool."

  I want to go back to bed and not get up again. Ever. I don't want to go to the pool. I don't want to face my girls. Or anyone else. I just want to hide my head in my pillows and sleep. All I can think about is the way Jack looked at me last night as he walked away from me.

  As I turn away from Evvie, she calls out to me. "If you're not down in fifteen minutes I'm coming to get you. Everyone's waiting to see you."

  In the kitchen, I grope for my coffeepot. Evvie's moved down the walkway and is now peering at me through my window. "Glad? It's a shame your vacation was spoiled. Is Jack all right about coming back early?"

  I choke on the lie, but I say, "Yeah, just fine."

  "There's something I want to talk about with you later today. Seeing how happy you are with Jack has given me an idea."

  Yeah, right. Happy. I manage to nod. "Later."

  But all I'm thinking is, Go away. Leave me to my misery.

  Walking past Denny Ryan's garden, I hear voices. Our handyman spends as much time as he can in his beloved garden. Today he is talking to his new girlfriend, Yolanda Diaz, called Yolie by all. Since she came to work for Irving Weiss as caretaker to his wife (and our dear friend) Millie, who has Alzheimer's, we've all come to adore her. As our Denny does. But, what's this? She's crying, and Denny in his gentle way is trying to comfort her. Seems like something is bothering her, but she won't tell him why. A lover's quarrel so soon? I think sadly, What? Another spat in the Garden of Eden?

  I arrive at the pool area quietly to find everyone at their usual pastimes. Tessie is doing laps. My gang are walking back and forth in the shallow end of the water, chatting. Mary is sitting by the side of the pool, crocheting. She seems to have made peace with her husband, John, leaving her. Is that what I have to look forward to? Finding some hobby to take Jack's place if he doesn't come back to me?

  Meanwhile, the snowbird Canadians who fly down every winter to flee their icy weather are sunbathing and reading their hometown newspapers. Enya, our concentration camp survivor, engrossed in a book, as always, sits off to one side alone. Hy and Lola are holding hands across their adjoining chaises—he, Mr. Pain-in-the-you-knowwhere, and she, clueless as ever.

  The young, secretly gay "cousins," Barbi and Casey, dressed more casually than when they are at their computer research office, are playing cards, content in the knowledge they are accepted here and the girls and I won't betray their secret.

  As usual, dear Irving is sitting in the shade, whispering gently to immobile Millie. There's no way to tell whether her Alzheimer's is any worse, but between Irving and Yolie, she is well cared for.

  As for me, I hope not to attract anyone's attention.

  But no such luck! At the sight of me, Hy leaps to his feet and starts a round of applause. Everyone hops to attention and joins in. "Get the goodies," he orders Lola. In moments there's a box of assorted rugallah opened on one of the round white plastic tables. One of the Canadians opens an ice chest and takes out cold drinks and places them alongside the baked goods. Tessie's out of the pool and rounding up the napkins, which are instantly made useless by her wet hands.

  Just about everyone is surrounding me. Oh, God, I think. Save me. Then they sing out, " 'Hail the conquering hero . . .' "

  Evvie leads me to the food table during the rousing cheer. Our neighbors wait breathlessly until I pick a rugallah.

  "Good choice. Raspberry," says Mary, and then everyone else dives in.

  They're all talking at once. I'm sure the girls filled them in on our exploits during the bingo cruise. I guess they want to hear it again now that I'm back.

  "You captured a killer?" Tessie.

  "Single-handed?" Irving.

  "No, we already told you, we all got him." Ida.

  "We got him during a hurricane." Sophie.

  "No, it was a tsunami." Evvie.

  "A what?" Tessie.

  "Didja get a reward?" Hy.

  Bella starts to speak, but Ida stops her by slapping a hand over her mouth. Ida faces Hy. "None of your business."

  "Congratulations," Barbi and Casey say in unison.

  "So where's Jack?" Mary asks.

  My head is spinning. Evvie seats me in a chair and shifts the nearby umbrella to shade my face. "Have mercy, she's jet-lagged," warns my sister, always protective of me.

  I'm feeling nothing but anger. Anger at all of their nonsense. And most of all anger at myself. I could be in Jack's arms on our island paradise instead of here. Coulda, woulda, shoulda.

  Tessie pulls a chair close. "Lots of news here. The Peeper struck again."

  Mary adds, "And again and again."

  "Dumkupfs," Hy says with disgust. "I told these ladies to pull down their shades. They're just asking for it."

  I know I should show some interest. This man, whoever he is, has been frightening many of the women who live on the first floors of buildings throughout the condo. But my heart isn't in it.

  Tessie leans over and swats Hy.

  "Ouch," he says. Then to me, "You missed my joke. Wanna hear it?"

  A chorus of "No" blasts out at him. He ignores it. He circles round me, hands on hips, gyrating his tush as he always does. He begins, "At eight you take her to bed and tell her a story."

  Even though I try not to listen, he goes on and on. The group gives up, knowing they can't stop him, and they disperse, ambling back to their other pursuits.

  "At eighteen, you tell her a story and take her to bed. At twenty-eight, you don't need to tell her a story to take her to bed."

  Irving makes the universal gesture of repulsion, waving his hand. "Feh."

  Hy gestures back, meaning who cares what you think. "At thirty-eight, she tells you a story and takes you to bed."

  Ida reaches out and smacks him with her wet towel. He ducks, not missing a beat. "At forty eight, you tell her a story to avoid going to bed." Hearing rumblings of impatience, he talks faster. "At fifty-eight you stay in bed to avoid her story. At sixty-eight if you take her to bed, that'll be a story—"

  Almost as if rehearsed, the entire poolside gang (except Enya and Irving) shouts the punch line loudly, cutting him off. "At seventy-eight, what story? What bed? Who are you?"

  Hy walks away in disgust. "I waste my talents on you ingrates."

  In spite of my misery, I find myself laughing out loud. Some things never change. I am beginning to feel a little better. I'm here. Whether I want to be or not. So be here, I tell myself. I'm with people who care about me. I'm with my lantsmen, my neighbors, my family.