The Art of Adapting by Cassandra Dunn Page A

that was a good thing or not. Tonight Lana needed to hit him up for money, so this time she waved him inside. He came in, just barely, his heels resting on the metal threshold strip.
    â€œA couple of things. For one, I wanted to warn you not to speed down the street here in your new car,” Lana said. It was such a loaded statement that it made her cringe, but then she patted her front jeans pocket, where Graham’s discarded wedding ring rested, and it seemed less petty. “I guess they’ve set up a speed trap.”
    â€œHere? Who are they hoping to catch?” Graham asked.
    â€œWell, sadly, me,” Lana said with a shrug.
    â€œA ticket? How much was it?” Graham asked.
    â€œLuckily, I got out of it. Turns out the officer was Nick Parker, if you can believe that.” She waited while Graham processed the name.
    The first time Lana saw Graham she was nestled in Nick’s arms at a party. Graham had done a double-take as he walked by and Lana had smiled at him. She and Nick were days from breaking up, in the tender tail end of their summer romance. Nick had just enlisted in the family business. He was shipping out soon and wanted no strings. It was a bittersweet ending. They were parting as friends. But Graham didn’t know that as he flirted with Lana at the drinks table while Nick was in the bathroom. Graham was competitive, confident, determined to steal Lana from chiseled, brawny Nick and his six-pack abs. He pursued her relentlessly. Lana had been loved before, but never like that. Never with suchhunger. Graham had been so proud to call Lana his girlfriend, so jealous when other guys talked to her. When had that vanished?
    â€œNick Parker,” Graham said. He shook his head. “Out of the Marines and into the force.”
    â€œYeah, it was strange running into him. Funny thing is, I think he recognized Matt before he realized who I was.”
    â€œWell, good that you got out of the ticket,” Graham said. He backed up a step, nearly stumbling out the open front door.
    â€œSo, the other thing. Byron’s swim team fees are due, and Abby’s soccer team is taking pictures, and for some reason the water bill is higher than usual this month. I was wondering—”
    â€œI’ll take care of it,” Graham said. He looked behind him, toward the darkening street. Was he looking for escape, or Nick Parker?
    â€œOh, thanks. The car also needs an oil change. It’s actually overdue.” It wasn’t, but if Graham was feeling generous, Lana figured she should ask for something extra.
    â€œYeah, okay. I don’t have my checkbook. I can bring it next time. Is three hundred dollars enough?” Lana hesitated, shrugged. He’d always insisted on managing the finances. How was she to know what everything would cost? “Let’s make it four hundred.”
    â€œGreat. Thanks. That extra hundred is probably cheaper than a ticket would’ve been,” Lana said with a laugh. Graham smiled, a humorless pinch of his features, and headed out.
    Lana still felt the occasional swell of loss when she watched Graham leave the house. She was fine during the day, as the house had always been her domain during daylight hours. But watching him walk away during the same time frame he used to be arriving home reminded her how much her life had changed, without her permission.
    She found Byron settled at the kitchen table, his pen in his left hand, curled into a clublike fist that seemed incapable of creating the fine sketches and beautiful drawings that he left in the margins of every page, on the backs of junk mail envelopes, in the corners of her shopping lists. Matt was the only other left-hander in the family. And the only other one with any artistic skill.
    â€œThis one,” Lana said, touching a thin line of a forehead, nose, chin. It was barely an outline of someone’s profile, but it was a beautiful suggestion of a young woman. “This