The investigators never find the seventh woman, the one he left near the rusted-out railroad tracks. They never even know to look for her, even though for weeks her dyed red hair is bright against the fading grass. The police bring in a suspect for questioning, a plumber who had been staying at the Sunset Motel when the bodies were found. They question another man—one whose apartment on the boardwalk is filled with women’s shoes. But they are all the wrong guesses. The women know he’s gone for good after the seventh woman. They know, too, that he’ll never be caught. Who they were, their longings and dreams, their secrets and their darkest thoughts, will be lost. Time will turn them into warnings, symptoms, into stories people tell in dark corners of bars.

Seasons pass. The tides surge and recede. The moon waxes and wanes. The grass of the marsh turns green and brown and green again. One spring, the feral cats under the boardwalk are caught and taken to shelters inland. A new restaurant opens in the middle of an empty, gray block on Pacific. A section of boardwalk that was ruined in a storm is nailed together again. The state buys the Sunset Motel and razes it to the ground. A new governor promises the city more funds. The lights at the Revel go on again, a glittering column at the end of the skyline. An art show draws a critic from the New York Times. In the Press of Atlantic City: “Local Painter Honored for a Lifetime of Work, Commissioned to Paint Murals Downtown.” A young woman waits tables at a diner in San Diego and writes a college application essay about tarot cards and telling stories, about a boardwalk shop overlooking another sea.

The women hover above it all, presiding like ghosts. Even now, they, like everyone else in town, still believe in luck, in the change of tides, in the upswing, in the chance that they’ll hit on the next deal. That something else will happen, something beautiful, wonderful, something that will turn it all around. They choose to believe that this isn’t the end.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

THANK YOU—

To my agent, Sarah Bedingfield, who shaped this manuscript into the book it was meant to become with endless patience, keen editorial acumen, and unbridled enthusiasm. I can’t imagine this journey without you, or our marathon breakfasts. To my editor, Kate Dresser, whose passion bowled me over from the very beginning. Thank you for embracing this project with such wholehearted gusto and for your razor-sharp insights and clear vision, which have elevated every page. To Molly Gregory and the rest of the team at Gallery for bringing this book into the world with such care and giving it a loving home.