The band seemed relieved to see them. They were playing an easy swing number, and Henry turned and spun Effie around. They had always been able to move well together, to anticipate each other’s steps. She seemed happy. Halfway through the song they swapped partners, and Henry danced with Clara, who was soft and vast in comparison. He stepped on her toe but she laughed, and soon they found their rhythm. He spun her out and brought her back to him, and she squeezed his arm and said he was very good. He said she was very good too. Alma sat by herself at the table, but on the next turn he saw one of the Coast Guard cadets bending to her, and by the next song the two of them had come onto the floor. An elderly couple joined them, and then a group of children came up as well, in a corner of the floor, kicking and flailing individually, as if to mock the beat—and suddenly the dance floor was hopping. The band launched into a fast jazz number, and the couples broke apart. Three more cadets stormed the floor. One of them engaged Effie. Henry tried to edge himself toward Alma, but another of the cadets, a tall one, had gotten her attention, taking her hand, turning her this way and that. Clara took Henry’s hand and spun him around. Effie and Max, facing each other, did a kind of Charleston. One of the trombonists did a solo with a plunger, and it was funny the way he made it sound, the way he moved, and everyone laughed and whooped and clapped their hands. Then the band finished with a few measures of pandemonium and a crash of cymbals, and the little crowd on the dance floor cheered.

Clara and Max headed to the bar to order another round of drinks. Effie needed to rest a bit, and Henry followed her to the table. But before he could sit down Alma took his hand and said, “I need you to rescue me. Do you mind?” she said to Effie, and Effie laughed and said, “Of course not, honey.”

The song was a slow one, an instrumental version of a tune he recognized, “I’ll Be with You in Apple Blossom Time,” and they were one of only three couples on the dance floor now. He took Alma’s hand and slid his arm around her.

“Thank you,” she said. Her eyes were locked on his, and she was grinning.

“Do I need to fight some cadets?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

They moved lazily, out of step with the beat. She was slender and taut and warm, and the back of her dress was damp with sweat. She ran her hand up his arm and gripped his shoulder.

“The dress is nice,” he said. “Good choice.” He let his eyes linger on her bare shoulders, her collarbone, the little mounds of her breasts.