Leslie’s perception of Marlon and Yvette had tilted and she didn’t feel capable of grappling with it and speaking coherently at the same time. There were so many ways to deal with stupid, crippling loneliness, so few of them good. You struggled until you failed, and then you started over again at the beginning. The best option was probably to complicate your attachments to such a degree that they hardly seemed like attachments at all.

She floated over to Jake, who was staring fixedly at Yvette.

“You okay, man?” she said.

“Oh yeah,” he said automatically.

“Hey, look at me,” Leslie said. “Why did you invite me to this thing?”

He looked unfocusedly in her direction.

“Thought you were cool,” he said. “Wanted company.”

“But not anymore?”

He dunked his head underwater, then reemerged and flicked his wet hair in her direction.

“Of course,” he said.

He said it as if it had no connection to what she’d asked. She decided she would try one more time to be straight with him.

“I feel kind of alone, you know?” she said.

Jake’s eyes drifted back to Yvette. “I get that,” he said.

There was a loud thunder crack and a burst of lightning that looked to be very nearby. Leslie hoisted herself up out of the pool, with Marlon and Jake close behind. A couple of tall figures in the shallow end had their arms raised to the sky, defiant. One of them extended his middle fingers. “We don’t give a damn, we don’t give a fuck!” he yelled, until a woman—girlfriend? aunt?—waded back and dragged him out by the wrist. Leslie wrapped herself in a towel and tried to stop shivering. Jake watched the shuddering sky with sincere-looking solemnity. Maybe he was composing a poem. Was it wrong to assume he was a bad poet? Probability was on her side. But would it kill her to be a little more generous? It might kill her to keep standing in a dripping puddle during a lightning storm.

“Sanctuary!” Yvette yelled, and she and the two boys joined the pack of dogs and guests sprinting toward the field. Leslie watched them go, and then went back to looking at the sky. She stayed still. If it be now, it’s not to come, she thought, or something like that. She watched the lightning striking the world, sometimes far away, sometimes, it seemed, close enough to touch. No one came looking for her. After half an hour, or three hours, or three weeks, she realized that the storm had passed and that she was shivering uncontrollably. She walked briskly into the lodge, through the now-dark and empty hall where the reception had been, to the bar, which was occupied by Richard, the political consultant, still in his suit, sitting with his back to the wall at a mixed table of ruffians and respectable-looking people.