Pebbles crunched under our tires as we parked in front of my aunt’s garage. I walked to the house, rang the doorbell, and there was Lana, naked.“Answering the door in the nude may not be such a good idea,” I said, gesturing to the collegiate-looking gardener. “There’s a man in your front yard.”“You mean Michael? It’s okay. He’s sees me this way all the time.”“Isn’t it late in the day to be trimming the hedges?”“But it won’t be dark for another hour.”“How well do you know this guy?”Lana reached out and pulled me into a warm hug. “Stop all this worrying about me.” She stepped back. “Come in, come in. So good to see you both.”“Sorry to barge in on such short notice,” I said, though I knew Lana was one of maybe three people in the world who actually meant it when she quoted the old “love is never having to say you’re sorry.” The smell of incense—and freshly smoked Mary Jane—wafted into the foyer.She brought us seltzer with ice and lemon, and we sat in a broad yellow room glowing with afternoon light.
