He could hear them laughing in the kitchen when he arrived. It was after nine. He went up the stairs. The guest room smelled like Effie now, the light cedar that hung around her and suffused the Tarleton household and that still reminded him, when he noticed it, of their first days together as a couple, only last year, when he’d visit her at her house. He sat on the bed and stared at his open suitcase. She’d done their laundry yesterday and hung it out on the clothesline in the backyard, and now his clothes, even his underwear, were folded and placed neatly back in the suitcase. As if she’d packed for his departure. The care she’d taken broke his heart. He felt, suddenly, sick to his stomach. He couldn’t think about this right now. When the time came, he wouldn’t think at all. He’d just go. He’d leave the suitcase behind.

“There he is,” Clara said, smiling brightly, when he came into the kitchen. The three of them were sitting at the table, the remnants of breakfast in front of them.

“I guess you aren’t sick,” Effie said, “if you were out walking.”

“No,” he said, “I think I’m fine.” He bent down to kiss the top of her head. She didn’t move her hands from her coffee cup. He sat at the table.

“Still can’t sleep?” Max said.

“Not well.”

“I can make you an egg if you want,” Effie said. “There’s some bacon over there.”

“I’m fine for now.”

She seemed slightly cold. He scrambled to think what might be the matter—what she might know. But then she brightened, looking past him, and said, “Hey, honey.”

Alma had come into the kitchen, looking refreshed, wearing her brown dress with the white polka dots. She laughed. “I love when you call me honey.” She took a piece of bacon and leaned on her elbows at the island counter, obviously in a good mood. “What are you all up to today? Let me guess: sitting around, drinking, going sailing.”

“And what are you going to do?” Max said.

“I think I’ll take my leave today,” she said.

“What’s that, dear?” Clara said.

“I’m going back to New York.”

Henry went cold. They hadn’t discussed this. She didn’t look at him.

“Oh, no,” Effie said, and made a pouting face. “That’s too sad.”

“You’re just going—by yourself?” Max said.

“Why not? I don’t want to break up all the fun. You all keep on frolicking.”

“Alma…”

“Max,” she said, standing up straight, holding her hands out, “everything is fine here. I just want to go home, that’s all. I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“But what about the city being miserable, everyone’s mean and ugly, you’ll never have a home and all that jazz?”