Roy looked so strong and ebullient, stabbing at the ground with fireworks as he chatted with his artist friends. He needed tasks to perform at parties; otherwise, he hid. Roy was a good man, really. He liked clean clothes and was generally neat. He might not appear to notice things, but from reading snippets and reviews of his books, it was quite clear he noticed everything. He could sit on a cold, empty beach and watch the waves. He liked to leave the window open and listen to the rain. He pretended not to mind that their older daughters, Chloe and Anna, didn’t seem to like their parents very much and only appeared for Christmas, but there were versions of Chloe and Anna in every book he’d written. He would rather eat at home than in a restaurant. He did not enjoy parties.

Wendy loved parties and crowded places where she could people-watch. Abandoned beaches bored her. Sitting bored her. Reading lengthy novels bored her. She loved to read restaurant reviews and became extremely irritated when Roy wouldn’t try them. It occurred to her that perhaps she was the difficult one.

An animal noise in the dark startled her. It was the Latin teacher, Streko, curled up in the farthest, darkest corner of the garden, half obscured by an evergreen bush. Empty beer bottles lolled in the grass near his tattooed form. An overturned plate leaned against his sneakered foot.

“Wendy? Is that you lurking? Are you all right?” Roy called out to her.

Wendy leaned casually against the garden wall. “Just taking a break,” she said, like it was a very normal thing to be standing alone in the dark at your own party. She wondered if she should call his attention to the Latin teacher. She didn’t mind it really. Maybe he was tired. Teaching teenagers must be exhausting.

“I’m not sure you’re going to like this,” Roy said. “But I think something’s happening upstairs.”

Wendy walked unsteadily toward him, her eyes fixed on Shy’s third-floor window. The venetian blinds were closed, but the light was on, casting shadows on the blinds. The shadowy hulk of the bed with two bodies on it was fully visible.

“Oh,” Wendy gasped. “Oh.”

Roy put his arm around her. “Remember how nice you said it was? Right here in our house. Not at some party with a boy she’d never laid eyes on. He’s the school nurse’s son and therefore probably very clean?”

Wendy shuddered involuntarily and leaned into her husband. “I did say that.”

“It’s all right, just don’t look up.” Roy sounded a bit too delighted. Even in her foggy state, Wendy recognized that note in his voice—when something he’d written actually happened in real life.

“At least they’re here, safe with us, and not on Mars,” Wendy said, playing along.