Inside, it was a more intimate gathering than it had sounded outside. The candles had been lit, the lamps were aglow. On the mantel over the fireplace stood Max’s painting. Clara was at the piano, the band was lounging with their instruments all around the den, and everyone was singing a boozy rendition of “You Belong to Me.” Max and two of the cadets were standing by the bar, Maggie and Brenda among them, and to Henry’s surprise, a few of the older people from the dance were there too. Max raised his glass to Henry, and Henry held his hand up in greeting. He stepped uncertainly into the den, feeling strange without Effie, as though he were intruding, until he spotted Alma and Carl sitting on the rug by the coffee table, along with a rumpled-looking gray-haired gentleman and a few women he didn’t recognize. They seemed to be playing cards. A bottle of whiskey stood on the table. When Alma saw him, she brightened and beckoned him over.

“Don’t do it yet,” she said to a Hispanic-looking woman, who was up on her knees across the table from her, holding a deck of cards. “I want Henry to see.”

“Henry, darling!” Clara cried from the piano, then launched into another verse.

Carl eyed him warily. He’d unbuttoned his shirt, and underneath it he wore a white tank top, and he seemed to have spilled something on himself. “How’s it going, Hank,” he said. They were the first words he’d spoken to him all evening.

Alma told Carl to move over and make room.

“You’re a tease, you know that?” he said, but Alma only smiled sweetly at him.

“I’m not teasing. I told you my boyfriend was coming back, and here he is. Now scoot.”

Henry laughed, and felt a rush of heat. It was only a game, but he would play along. Reluctantly Carl scooted over, and Alma patted the space between them, and Henry sat down beside her, crossing his legs. She’d pulled her shoes and stockings off and was sitting with her legs tucked beside her, and when he asked what was going on, she shifted closer to him, so they touched.

“This is Zeynep,” she said, nodding toward the woman holding the cards. “She’s from Turkey.”

“I’m from Cincinnati,” the woman said.

“She’s just shown us the most amazing card trick, and we’re going to try and figure out how she does it. Here,” she said, handing him a highball glass with two fingers of whiskey in it. “You need to help me with this. I’m getting tipsy.”

“Gladly,” he said, and took a swallow.

“Should I do it to him?” the woman asked.

Alma said yes, and laid her hand on Henry’s leg. “Now, watch her very closely.”