“My poor peach!” Clara cried when they’d made their way downstairs. She and Max were sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through different sections of the newspaper. “You don’t want coffee,” she said, getting up. “You want tea with honey. I’ll make it for you.” She and Max had been up for a while. The power was still out. The remnants of breakfast lay on the table, a few pieces of toast. Max said he could whip them up some omelets, but Effie wasn’t hungry—she felt a bit nauseated, actually. Henry took a piece of toast. The newspaper was a Cape May Gazette, from June.

Alma had gone down to the beach to look at the waves, Max said. They were probably spectacular today. Beyond the bay windows the trees swayed in the wind, and leaves fell like ticker tape.

They decided they would go to the beach too. The sea air would be restorative, Clara said. Effie said they’d have to run to the cottage to change—their clothes were still wet—but Max said not to bother, and fetched her one of Alma’s dresses, as well as a clean T-shirt and shorts for Henry. “We’re about the same size, wouldn’t you say, Hank?”

They changed upstairs. The dress was the green one Alma had been wearing that first day out on the boat. On Effie it strained at the seams, it pinched her sides and barely contained her breasts. “I look awful in this,” she said, examining herself in the mirror.

“You look fine,” Henry said.

“Fine,” she said, “great,” and he pulled her to him and kissed her forehead.

They met Max and Clara down in the foyer and started for the beach. Clara carried a bag full of towels. After the chill of the night, Henry was surprised how warm the day was. An Indian summer. The air smelled richly of the damp earth and leaves. Leaves and small branches were scattered all over the street and sidewalk, and the street was rutted with pale blue mirrors.

They stepped up to the promenade, and ahead of them the ocean seethed, the waves forming perfect pipes before they pounded the beach. After a minute Clara spotted Alma’s figure in the distance toward town, lying in the glassy blue sand below the tideline. “Crazy girl,” she said. “She’s going to get swept out to sea.” They took their shoes off and stepped down from the promenade and made their way toward her. Effie held the side of her dress in her fist so it wouldn’t blow up.

The waves were astonishing. Henry had never seen anything like it. He imagined they were reaching out to him, trying to get at him.

Beside him, Effie looked pale. He asked how she was holding up, and she said she was fine. She slipped her free hand into his.