Maria, Frieda, walking down the path.

A neighbor’s kid came up to me while I was walking and tugged on my sleeve, after hugging Lenore. “Hey,” she said. “Is Maria your girlfriend?”

“Why do you ask?” I replied.

“Everybody says so,” she said.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Ten,” she said.

“Well, you are wise. Maria is my girlfriend.”