Alex cuts me off with a wave.

“We don’t have to leave the dock. But I figured it would be nice to have dinner under the stars instead of in the store.”

Nolan’s hand tightens in mine. “We can take it out,” he says. When he sees our doubtful faces, he adds, “Really. It might be fun.”

I can tell Alex doesn’t want to risk upsetting Nolan, but I ask, “Will it help you or hurt you if we are out on the water?”

His hand lets go of mine, and he pulls me softly to his side. Alex studiously ignores us, looking down at his phone.

“I think it’ll help,” Nolan whispers. “Maybe we’ll wash up on an island somewhere and you’ll have to stay.”

“Or we’ll get stranded on Orman,” I say, because this is the best kind of pretend.

“God, I hope not.” Alex laughs, giving up the pretense that he isn’t listening in. “Wally wouldn’t last five minutes against a tree knight.”

“You wouldn’t last five minutes against a tree knight,” Nolan says.

The two of them keep bickering as Alex unties us from the dock and starts the engine. Lights flicker on around the edge of the boat, but even so, Alex says we can’t go too far at night.

True to his word, he kills the engine when the shore is still well within sight. It would be swimmable, if need be, but it’s far enough away from Lochbrook and Val’s to make us feel we’re somewhere else entirely.

We’re all staring up at the stars when Nolan says, “This is perfect.”

“Nothing’s perfect,” Alex says.

I smile. “This is.”

Perfection lasts about two minutes before Alex announces that Wally has peed on the cooler, contaminating our elaborate dinner of wine, cheese, crackers, and little rolls of lunch meat.

“Alex, there was hardly enough food in here to feed a rabbit anyway,” Nolan says, peering into the urine-soaked cooler.

“It was supposed to be a charcuterie plate. Besides, rabbits are herbivores.”

“Hardly the point.” Nolan sighs. “I’m starving.”

Wally, sensing the change in mood, is sitting shamefaced behind the wheel of the boat. I suspect if he had opposable thumbs, he would have steered us back to the dock.

I lean around Nolan to gaze upon the damage wrought by what must be the world’s most idiotic dog. “Is charcuterie French for ‘after-school snack’? Because that’s what this looks like.”

“I mean, most of it is packaged in plastic,” Alex says, fishing out a baggie of cheese cubes. “Maybe it’s okay to eat?”

A glistening drop of pee trembles on the edge of the bag, and Nolan and I both lean backwards.

“Fine,” Alex says. “Fine. We won’t risk the food. But look!” He holds a shiny bottle triumphantly above his head. “The wine is one hundred percent okay to drink.”