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Lorna visits a third time. She asks whether I heard the phone ringing. I did. She says that—well, she finally answered it. “When you were first walking, one of your favorite things was to run for the phone,” I said. I was trying to be nice to her. “Stop talking about when I was a baby,” she says, and leaves. On the way out, she says, “It was your friend who came over the other night. He wants you to call him. His number is here.” She comes back with a piece of paper, then leaves again.

“I got drunk,” Banks says on the phone, “and I felt sorry for you.”

“The hell with that, Banks,” I say, and reflect that I sound like someone talking in The Sun Also Rises.

“Forget it, old Banks,” I say, enjoying the part.

“You’re not loaded too, are you?” Banks says.

“No, Banks,” I say.

“Well, I wanted to talk. I wanted to ask if you wanted to go out to a bar with me. I don’t have any more beer or money.”

“Thanks, but there’s a big rendezvous here today. Lorna’s here. I’d better stick around.”

“Oh,” Banks says. “Listen. Could I come over and borrow five bucks?”

Banks does not think of me in my professorial capacity.

“Sure,” I say.

“Thanks,” he says.

“Sure, old Banks. Sure,” I say, and hang up.

Lorna stands in the doorway. “Is he coming over?” she asks.

“Yes. He’s coming to borrow money. He’s not the man for you, Lorna.”

“You don’t have any money either,” she says. “Grandpa does.”

“I have enough money,” I say defensively.

“How much do you have?”

“I make a salary, you know, Lorna. Has your mother been telling you I’m broke?”

“She doesn’t talk about you.”

“Then why did you ask how much money I had?”

“I wanted to know.”

“I’m not going to tell you,” I say.

“They told me to come talk to you,” Lorna says. “I was supposed to get you to come down.”

“Do you want me to come down?” I ask.

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“You’re supposed to be devoted to your daddy,” I say.

Lorna sighs. “You won’t answer any of my questions, and you say silly things.”

“What?”

“What you just said—about my daddy.”

“I am your daddy,” I say.

“I know it,” she says.

There seems nowhere for the conversation to go.

“You want to hear that story now?” I ask.

“No. Don’t try to tell me any stories. I’m ten.”

“I’m thirty-two,” I say.

My father’s brother William is about to score a victory over Elizabeth. He puts his foot on the ball, which is touching hers, and knocks her ball down the hill. He pretends he has knocked it an immense distance and cups his hand over his brow to squint after it. William’s wife will not play croquet; she sits on the grass and frowns. She is a dead ringer for the woman behind the cash register in Edward Hopper’s Tables for Ladies.

“How’s it going?” Danielle asks, standing in the doorway.

“Come on in,” I say.

“I just came upstairs to go to the bathroom. The cook is in the one downstairs.”

She comes in and looks out the window.

“Do you want me to get you anything?” she says. “Food?”

“You’re just being nice to me because I kiss your piggies.”

“You’re horrible,” she says.

“I tried to be nice to Lorna, and all she wanted to talk about was money.”

“All they talk about down there is money,” she says.

She leaves and then comes back with her hair combed and her mouth pink again.

“What do you think of William’s wife?” I ask.

“I don’t know, she doesn’t say much.” Danielle sits on the floor, with her chin on her knees. “Everybody always says that people who only say a few dumb things are sweet.”

“What dumb things has she said?” I say.

“She said, ‘Such a beautiful day,’ and looked at the sky.”

“You shouldn’t be hanging out with these people, Danielle,” I say.

“I’ve got to go back,” she says.

Banks is here. He is sitting next to me as it gets dark. I am watching Danielle out on the lawn. She has a red shawl that she winds around her shoulders. She looks tired and elegant. My father has been drinking all afternoon. “Get the hell down here!” he hollered to me a little while ago. My mother rushed up to