“Sure. Why not?” she said. Part of her just wanted to see what it felt like, spending more time with a boy who seemed to like her. And he was harmless, that much she knew.

There were no other cars parked out at Buxton Point. They walked down the short jetty and sat on a flat slab of granite close enough to the water so that the spray from the crashing waves occasionally reached them. She let Justin kiss her, and unhook her bra, but stopped him when his hand plucked at the top button of her jeans.

“I like you so much, Alice. You have no idea.”

“I have a boyfriend,” Alice said. It was a lie, but as she said it, she pictured Jake.

“You do?”

“He’s older. You don’t know him.”

“How much older?”

“Just a little bit. I’m sorry, Justin.”

“So why are you here with me?” He had leaned back, and in the bright moonlight looked genuinely upset. He’s a nice guy, Alice thought, but just a boy. He was halfway cute but his eyes were too close together, making him seem a little inbred, and his dark hair was already beginning to thin at the front. He’d probably be completely bald by the time he was twenty-five.

“I shouldn’t be, Justin. I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s a bad time for me, and my mom isn’t doing well, and I should be home now. I should never have let this happen.” It was a trick she sometimes pulled on Gina, suddenly getting emotional to get out of something. She knew that because she was so stoic all the time, when she made herself sound upset, people paid attention. It worked with Gina, and it worked now with Justin. He drove her back to the condo, and dropped her off. She kissed him hard once on the mouth, their tongues touching, then quickly exited the car. The least she could do was let him think it was hard for her to say good-bye.

As soon as she unlocked the front door of the condo and stepped inside, she knew something was wrong. It was quiet—just the sloshing sound of the dishwasher running in the kitchen—but the house had a bad smell. She could see her mother supine on the couch, but the television wasn’t on. She hung the house keys on the hook and walked toward her. The smell got sharper, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that her mother had thrown up. Vomit had pooled on the couch and was streaked down her mother’s cheeks. It had happened before, but always when her mother’s head had been turned to the side. This time her mother’s head was tipped back, crusted lips parted, her eyes partly open.