“You should get back in bed,” Max said. “We’ll layer you with quilts. I’ll make soup—I saw lentils in the pantry. And Clara’s got a pharmacy in her suitcase.”

“I’ve got stuff that’ll knock you out for a week,” Clara agreed.

Effie made a pathetic groan. She thanked them, but she just wanted to go back to the cottage and disappear. She felt disgusting.

“Do you want to go back now?” Henry asked.

“I guess so,” she said. “I’m sorry, Henry. You don’t have to come with me.”

“What are you talking about? Of course I’m coming with you.”

Alma was looking in Henry’s direction, behind her sunglasses, and she drew her bottom lip out in a pout.

“Get better before tomorrow night,” Clara said as they got to their feet.

Tomorrow night was the night of the dance.

“I’ll be there if Henry has to carry me,” Effie said.

As soon as she peeled the dress off, with Henry’s help, and got into her pajamas, Effie fell onto the bed in the attic room and gave up moving. Henry drew the covers over her shoulders. He kissed her cheek and asked if he could bring her anything to eat—some toast, at least? She shook her head.

“But you should eat something,” he persisted.

“I just want to sleep,” she said, not opening her eyes.

He smiled. “My little darling,” he said, and kissed her again.

He picked Alma’s dress up off the floor and without thinking brought it to his nose and breathed in. It didn’t smell like Effie; it was a light, grassy scent. He draped it over the back of the vanity chair, ran his fingertips over the fabric, turned, and for a long moment looked at his wife. She seemed unbearably sweet to him there on the bed, her hair spread over the pillow, the gentle rise and fall of her back, and he thought that there was nothing in the world he wouldn’t do for her. A tide of selfless, gallant feeling rose in him. He wanted to squeeze her and kiss her again—but she needed her rest. He would leave her alone.

Downstairs he made himself a sandwich and ate it on the back porch, watching the fallen leaves flutter in the backyard. In just a month, after he and Effie were gone, it would probably snow up here. He wished he could see it. He hadn’t seen snow in years.

He wished he had a cigarette too. Next time he was out, he would buy himself a pack. It was time he took up smoking. He was a grown man.