Henry wanted to join her. His muscles twitched with intention. How would the others have reacted if he had? What would Effie have done? But he was afraid. And now Effie was saying, “Aunt Lizzie used to tell me, ‘This isn’t the creek, girl. If you’re in the water up past your knees, you’re fair game for the sharks.’”

They let Alma be. She dove and splashed in the water, and a few minutes later climbed out, up the ladder at the stern, her hair slicked back, water streaming off her body, glistening in the low, red sun like a white-and-gold seal.

That evening, after dinner, after several drinks, they decided it was time to explore the other houses on the street. They would test Max’s theory. Everyone was in agreement. Especially Alma, who brightened when Max suggested it.

They went out.

The moon was still low in the sky, and New Hampshire Avenue lay mostly hidden in the dark. The excitement stimulated Henry’s bowels, and occasionally a cramp would nearly paralyze him, but then it would pass. Alma led the way—first to the house across the street, where the front door and windows were locked, and then to the house next door to it, which was locked up as well. “We tried,” Clara said, but Alma ignored her. They crossed the street again, not back to Clara’s, but to the house next door. The Healys’ place, Effie said, and Clara said, “Yes. Mrs. Healy made my birthday cakes. I can’t do it.” She stopped on the lawn. “I’ll stay out here.” But it didn’t matter, the house was locked. So they tried the one next door, which was the house directly across from Aunt Lizzie’s. The Woods’ place, where Effie’s babysitter Betsy had lived. She had never been inside. The house lay in a sliver of moonlight. The front door was locked, but when Alma tried the tall window beside it, it lifted open.

“Et voilà,” she said, and ducked down and stepped inside. Henry went in after her, and the others followed.