But she had already turned away from him, and he followed her pale behind into the deep gloom at the side of the house. They were infected with laughter—the air was tickling their stomachs. “Effie,” he whispered. “Someone’s going to see us.” But she ignored him and continued on, stepping carefully over the taller grass, holding her drink out and high as if she were on a balance beam.

They came out onto the cement sidewalk in front of the house, in the shadow of an elm tree, and looked up and down New Hampshire Avenue. Henry’s heart was pounding. Effie dared him to walk up the sidewalk. “That way,” she said, pointing to a long stretch of open moonlight in the direction away from Clara’s house.

“You do it,” Henry said, and Effie said fine and walked out of the safe harbor of the shadow. Laughing, trembling all over, he jogged up to join her, cupping himself pointlessly until, after a moment, he took his hand away.

They sipped their drinks and strolled easily down New Hampshire Avenue, past house after deserted house. Henry had never felt so liberated. Everything was enchanted and strange, and neither of them spoke, as if in respect to something hallowed. The breeze was strong. The trees cast impenetrable shadows, and the houses seemed bathed in silver. Henry’s loins tickled him and he kept touching himself.

Now the moon went behind a thin line of clouds and the neighborhood dimmed. Henry pointed out that today marked a week since they’d arrived in Cape May, and what a difference a week made. “Aren’t you glad we didn’t leave?”

“I’ll tell you when it’s over,” she said.

They were coming within reach of the yellow streetlights on Philadelphia Avenue, but they continued on anyway, until they reached the corner. Another large elm tree sheltered them. Three blocks down, Philadelphia ran into Beach Avenue and the seawall, and beyond the lights of the promenade long pale lines appeared out of the darkness and then faded away, one after another. They stood watching them for a while. Henry, emboldened now, was about to suggest they risk a dash down to the beach, when Effie said, “Look,” and pointed with her empty glass.

A lone figure was walking along the promenade. They were too far away to make it out, but Henry thought it must be Alma, still wandering the night. A slender frame, an unhurried pace. The thought of her out there within sight of them thrilled him in a way he couldn’t articulate. “I guess we’re not entirely alone,” he said, his voice trembling.

Effie laughed and hugged her shoulders, and Henry rubbed the goose bumps away from her arms. They watched until the figure went out of sight.

“We better head back,” Effie said, “before we get thrown into jail.”