They milled just over the hedge, lounging against their cars, and Lily was relieved that they hadn’t been around earlier to witness Max’s drunken performance. From the backyard, Lily heard the scrape of a metal rake, smelled the incinerator burning leaves. Reducing autumn to ash. A giant swallowtail butterfly fluttered among the bougainvillea outside the window. Shouldn’t it be migrating by now? She’d seen flocks of small black birds triangulating south, squirrels burying acorns, apples ripening on trees, the only signs by which Angelenos knew winter was gathering over the Tehachapi Range, preparing to pounce. “Ooh, there’s a nip in the air today,” Jinx said, looking flushed and happy. “I should have gotten my winter coat out of storage. Now I’m going to freeze down in La Jolla.” “Borrow mine.” Lily tossed it to her. “Gosh, thanks. We’ve all been admiring it.” A honk came from out front.
