“It was,” I said. “And I hope you’ll come back and visit soon.” I stared straight ahead while his fingers tightened on me, pressed into my skin. I willed myself to think of our shop. The leak under the apartment sink that we couldn’t afford to fix and that was slowly spreading a brown stain across the ceiling.

He turned my hand over, pressed a few bills into my palm.

“Thank you,” I said. I remembered what Des had told me, about these men wanting to feel like saviors. How everything I did should be girlish, helpless, small. “This will help us keep ahead on the rent this month.” He slid another bill from his wallet.

“Well, don’t forget to treat yourself to something nice, too.” I looked down this time—a hundred, with a small piece of paper tucked into it. For the first time that night, I felt hope bloom in my chest. If Des was going to sell me, maybe I could make it work for myself, too. “And if you ever want to extend the date, come relax in my suite at the hotel, you let me know. That’s my number. Get in touch.”

Before I got out of the car Tom put his hand on my jaw, turned my head toward his, and kissed me, pushing his tongue into my mouth. The kiss was forceful, wet, and salty. Nothing like the few spin-the-bottle pecks I had known. I closed my eyes and thought of the ocean. I saw it every single day, and I could hear the rumble of the waves from my bed at night. But it still always looked huge and beautiful and violent, full of unknowable things.

I walked the dark half block home, refusing to think. The boardwalk was quiet, but I inventoried everything around me, a way to keep my mind still. Out on Steel Pier, the circle of the Ferris wheel was bright against the sky, lit up red and yellow, spinning in its slow, lazy circles. A cat zipped out from the direction of the candy shop, its tail high in the air. A man stood underneath the awning, studying the poster of Julie Zale in the window. When I stopped in front of our door, I could feel him watch me draw my keys from my bag. In the dark I could only make out the coal of his cigarette and shape of smoke drifting toward the sky. He tossed his cigarette down, crushed the butt under the toe of his boot. I felt the creep of another fly, this one across the upper ridge of my lip. I couldn’t help it, even if I knew it was just in my head—I raised my hand to shoo it away.