It was late afternoon by the time they got back. Rowing, he kept glancing over his shoulder to home in on the dock, and as the dock grew larger he saw that there was someone there, a woman in a sundress and floppy hat he at first took to be Susannah, but wasn’t Susannah at all. It was Joanie. Wearing Susannah’s hat—or one just like it. He was free of the elation now, coming down off the drug and the glory of the day, his shoulders ached and he was starving and badly sunburned, especially in those places where the sun didn’t ordinarily reach. He felt something squeeze tight inside him.

Why his wife was there, he couldn’t imagine—unless something had gone wrong. His first thought was for Corey—had he got hurt, been in an accident? But no, that couldn’t be, because she was just sitting there tranquilly at the edge of the dock, a book open in her lap, her feet dangling in the water. All right, fine: his wife was there, enjoying the day, and it had nothing to do with the fact that Lori was his obsession and he hadn’t gone to Beacon and marriage was possessiveness no matter what Tim said or how much of the sacrament you took. He maneuvered the boat in and dropped the oars, letting it glide till he reached out a hand and took hold of the dock. Lori hopped out, secured the painter to the near post, and then, without a word, walked right past Joanie and headed up the path for the house.

He couldn’t make out his wife’s face beneath the brim of the hat, and that was just as well because he was unprepared for whatever this was or might be, not to mention a bit awkward getting out of the boat, which lurched away from him at the last minute so that he had to snatch at the post to steady himself. The dock trembled down the length of it; the boat shot out and jerked back again. “Jesus,” he said, more to himself than her, and then he was standing over her, conscious suddenly of how red his feet and legs were.

She looked up at him now, her face tight with anger. “I hope you had a nice time,” she said, and that left him without an opening, because he was going to say Hi, say What are you reading?, say What a day, huh?

“Yeah,” he said, “it was great. We just happened to come down here and see the boat—and it was such an amazing day . . . I felt like I was twelve years old again, like Huck Finn out on his raft.”

She didn’t bother to respond. She said only, “We’re going to New Jersey next week. As soon as school’s out.”

“New Jersey? What about the party, what about the Fourth?”