“I’m just saving my strength,” she said.

The power outage didn’t extend to the marina. As they crossed the bridge over the canal they could see lights blazing all along the length of the pier to the dance hall, which itself blazed against the dark of the sea and cast a river of light across the water in the cove. They turned into the marina parking lot and parked near the head of the pier. Outside, music drifted from the hall, big-band stuff, horns and heavy drums, and Henry wanted to run toward it—he wanted to leap up and smack the moon. He was eager for civilization. He imagined elegant jet-setters crowded inside the hall, people for whom physical distance was no obstacle, who might be in Cape May tonight and in Cabo tomorrow for another party, and he couldn’t wait to join them.

But as they made their way down the empty pier he could see through the divided windows that the hall was mostly empty, and at the door they encountered a matronly, not-elegant woman behind a foldout table, who greeted them and informed them that the entrance fee would be five dollars. “Five dollars?” Effie said. “That’s a little dear, isn’t it?” The woman showed no offense, also no sympathy, and explained that it was to benefit the Cape May Historical Society. A hand-painted poster behind her said as much. “It’s my treat, of course,” Max said, but Effie insisted she pay for herself and Henry. Henry said he could pay for them, but Effie said that was silly, she had the money her daddy had given her. He didn’t press the point. They paid, and went inside.

The music echoed in mostly empty space. The Cape May Historical Society had obviously gone to lengths for the band. There were twelve of them on a raised platform, all of them in white tuxedos, like Max, and the music was jumping. But aside from a few older couples trying to waltz in double-time, the dance floor was empty, and the rest of the crowd was scattered among the tables surrounding it. Most of the tables were empty. In the spaces between the windows hung nautical bric-a-brac: nets, harpoons, ships’ wheels, anchors, flags, the jaws of a shark.

“Maybe we’re early?” Clara said.

“I’m sure we are,” Effie said. “It’s not eight. I’m sure more people will pile in.”

“From where, I wonder?” Max said.