Eliza climbed into the boat, bearing towels and plastic tumblers and Amy felt amiss with her real glass of red wine. Maybe bringing glass on board was against the rules.

Eliza dropped her load on a white seat and turned to her husband. “Honey, why don’t we head over to the large cove. We can see the sunset better and the kids can drive the Jet Skis there.”

Nick backed the boat from the dock, popped open a Heineken and steered the boat with his knees. He turned and asked Phil if he wanted a beverage.

“I got it, Nick. You just drive.”

Amy scooted to the back of the boat and sat to watch the children race each other. She pulled her hair to the back of her neck and fastened it with the rubber band in her pocket. She smiled and waved at the kids. Hers. Nick’s. Impossible, but not. A hand came to rest on her shoulder. She looked up at Eliza’s plastic tumbler of white wine and flawless white smile.

“You have everything you need?” Eliza asked.

“Absolutely. Look how much fun the kids are having. Thank you so much for inviting us.”

“I’m glad you brought Molly.”

Amy felt warm, sure of herself. She took another sip of wine. “Y’all are so lucky to have this place. Do you come often?”

The two women leaned into each other to talk.

“Not as much as Nick would like to. He thinks we can come anytime he wants. He doesn’t know how much trouble it is to clean it, pack. You know . . . all the stuff you have to do to open and close a lake house.”

No, Amy didn’t know, but she nodded.

After looking out at the water, then back at Nick, Eliza lowered her voice. “They just don’t understand. They throw in a toothbrush and underwear and they’re ready to go.”

“I know . . . I know. They have no idea,” Amy said, although this was not true of Phil. Particulars were irrelevant when searching for a way to talk to Nick’s wife. “They think the groceries and kids’ stuff are magically packed for family getaways.”

Eliza sighed, and it sounded very much like It’s good to have someone understand. So Amy continued. “They arrive at their destination, pop a beer and the vacation begins for them.”

Eliza exhaled. “Yes.”

None of the things Amy described were actually characteristic of Phil; he would pack, then unpack and she couldn’t remember the last time he had actually popped a beer. He would uncork a fine bottle of Merlot, but only after the contents of the bags were neatly arranged in drawers. She was pretending to be Nick’s wife. She was trying it on, a hand-me-down dress, seeing how it fit, where it would be too loose, too tight, too fancy.