They fell silent again. Ana drained her glass. She felt a bit light-headed. She mixed another shaker full of gin and vermouth and added ice. The dog stood and began barking at the bluffs. He looked back at them, then barked again.

What is it, Oscar? she asked.

His tail was erect now, and he barked more insistently.

What do you think it is? Pars asked.

A rabbit? A deer?

They both looked at each other and had the same thought at once: Mrs. Liang.

Maybe we should just check, Pars said. He tamped out his cigarette and stood.

Ana picked up the shaker and stepped into her sandals.

The lawn was already wet with the night. They followed the dog toward the bluffs. The wind kept pulsing from the sea. They took the steep cedar steps down to the beach, Ana gripping the banister in one hand, the shaker in the other.

The tide was far out, the flats thinly glazed with moonlight. Oscar loped to the water’s edge. He wasn’t barking anymore. They scanned up and down the beach, but saw nothing, only the sand faintly lit in the night.

False alarm? Ana asked. Maybe it was a rabbit.

Who knows? Pars shrugged. He stretched his arms overhead.

Ana handed him the shaker and he took a gulp, and she did too, then nestled the glass in the sand. She wanted to feel the water. She kicked off her sandals and rolled her jeans to her ankles.

You’re not going in, are you? he asked.

She’d already started toward the water.

Just a little, she shouted.

Because, Pars said, I can’t…but his voice was snatched by the breeze.

The water lay before her, a silver curtain, diaphanous in the moonlight. Her feet touched the foam. Ice on her toes. Her ankles. A wave splashed her jeans. What was it like out there on a night like this? she wondered. She closed her eyes. The wind felt warm but the water deadly. She went deeper. There were little sparkles on the surface, a blue luminescence. Plant life talking to each other. She thought of Russell and almost broke into sobs. She heard Pars shouting behind.

She turned and trudged back up the strand. He was standing at the water’s edge, legs apart, shoes in hand. He hadn’t gone any closer.

What did you say? she asked, holding her hair back.

I can’t swim, he confessed.

You’re joking.

He looked at her impishly. His glasses were off.

I’m not.

Come on. She grabbed his arm.

Stop.

Oh, come on, just feel the water on your feet.

She dragged him down the strand. He only half protested. His face scrunched when the water hit his ankles.

That’s far enough, he said. The bottoms of their pants were getting wet. She didn’t care. She liked the tug of the undertow around her heels, the tide coaxing her out.