“I think they both need to eat more,” Karen said.
That kind of comment set Masha off. It was too familial. She couldn’t imagine herself saying as much to others, even of her own husband. The usual thought came to her mind in relation to the old Gang of Three and their crappy childhoods and screaming, needling mothers and fist-happy fathers: Was it Masha’s own fault her parents had been so kind to her, so undemanding? Also, Masha realized, since her own sister had died from the same illness that had spared Vinod （though Inna had been a nonsmoker, not that the universe gave a damn）， she had been irked by Karen playing the faux older sister to her husband and his friend. Every November, for example, Senderovsky forgot to congratulate Vinod on his birthday, and every November Karen reminded him.
“I think he still loves you,” she said to Karen carelessly.
“Loves me?” Karen said. “I don’t think Vinod is that predictable.” But she thought it would be fine if he did. And sad if he did not. The last consistent flame in her life extinguished.
* * *
—
Vinod set out eight place mats, each a Masha-prescribed distance apart, around the two outdoor dining tables, seven bearing copyrighted images from the American Folk Art Museum and one depicting seven Asian boys dressed for a prom in eternity. He set a child’s neon spoon and fork on top of that one.
A covered gallery ran from the main house to the covered porch, but it was essentially set into the forestscape behind the main house and abutting the half circle of bungalows. Animals scampering about the forest would sometimes look in, stunned by the sudden appearance of the great glowing structure, a lit stove circulating embers in its northwest corner, its cedar and latticework camouflaged by sumac and vine. Many of the vast local properties teemed with hunters, but absent that danger, the hundred or so acres of Senderovsky’s property served as a finishing school for the area’s younger animals. Coyotes perfected their maniacal howls here, vultures learned to research prey from great capitalist heights, groundhogs taught their children to eat the roots of the expensive Christmas trees which removed the sheep farm from Senderovsky’s sight lines as he drank dry fino sherry on his rocking chair. In turn, the porch overlooked a great noisy natural amphitheater. Vinod could hear what must have been wild turkeys gobbling somewhere, though it was hard to say where because of the acoustics, tree frogs and vagabond geese making an apocalyptic symphony, and, from the adjoining property, a sheepish farewell to the day, each deep, old-man bleat a note of protest at a nursing home. （Vinod thought of the sad news from Washington State he had read on the bus.）
“You know what,” Senderovsky said to Vinod as he carried in a carton of liquor, finally emptying his trunk. “Apropos of your novel, I think one of the storage units got cleaned out by accident. And your novel may have been in it. I’m so sorry, bhai.”
“They can do that?” Vinod asked. “Just clear it out? Did you forget to pay?”
The sadness of his voice was unmistakable. “Probably a bureaucratic error,” Senderovsky said. “This country’s going to hell. I’ll call down first thing in the morning.”
“It’s really not a priority,” Vinod said, but he was hurt nonetheless. He had heard of a technology they were working on in Karen’s neck of the woods which would allow you to freeze your entire state of being so that later you could upload your younger self and resume life where you had left off. It sounded no less impossible than anything else that was going on these days. Whatever that novel contained, Vinod thought it just might let him perform a similar operation, maybe even tear through some roadblock in his soul.
The porch door swung open, and the two friends turned to face Ed. He was wearing the same blue cotton jacket in which he had disembarked, chinos, and brogues, as well as a rested look. “Greetings, Vinny,” he said. “Karen arrived? Leave it to the Asians to get here on time.”
Vinod waved to Ed. The two men were curious friends, the way two dogs set off leash can sometimes run parallel to each other for infinite distances without sharing a glance.
“Where the hell were you?” Senderovsky said to Ed. “We didn’t make the vitello or Masha’s favorite sardines or the sausages or lamb steaks.”
“Oh, crap,” Ed said. He rubbed his eyes. “Is it too late? What will our Magnificent Amberson eat when he gets here?”
“He might not make it tonight,” Vinod said.
“Leaving Senderovsky as the most famous person at the table,” Ed said. “How convenient.”