This is a rare piece of domestic revelation, that Dana’s house would be vacant enough tonight for Cate to pay a visit. Cate waits a beat for that invitation, which doesn’t come. Cate has never been inside Dana’s house. She knows where it is and what it looks like only from Google Street View.

“You can’t come by my place. Graham’s split up with Eleanor. He’s staying with me for a while. He would definitely notice your arrival. Then he’d put together an intervention. The kind where guys in black burst in and put a bag over my head and take me by my arms and haul me away. Until I come to my senses.” She pauses, then, a little too late, remembers Maureen. “Plus I’m seeing someone.”

“Yeah,” Dana says, dismissing this as an irrelevant detail, getting back to logistics. “Then what about Blackhawk?” Cate’s workshop.

“The problem isn’t locational, it’s that I don’t want to wreck any more of my life being in stupid, tormented love with you.” Cate enjoys hearing how confident she sounds. Also how she can finally look straight into Dana’s eyes (unfortunately fascinating chasms, they’re the green of the flesh of a lime) as she says this. But they both know that, caught in a weak moment, maybe even the next time Dana shows up wherever, Cate’s better judgment could crumble and wind her up on the movers’ blanket thrown onto the big table at the workshop—fucking. Then, worse—crying. Mercifully, Cate’s phone hisses in her pocket. She pulls it out and puts the duck egg in. A text from Maureen.

can u c me?

followed by a string of question marks and emojis of puckered lips. Maureen is deft, sometimes even ironic, with emojis. They may be the language in which she was born to write. At first Cate takes this message to mean Maureen is asking if she is free to meet up, then understands it means she is here, at the beach. Cate left her a voice mail earlier saying she was so depressed about the election. She thought Maureen would just call back, but apparently she has instead shown up. Cate looks around until she spots her, standing atop the rocks above the beach, waving, smiling. Impressive timing.

“That’s her?” Dana says, peering in Maureen’s direction. “Okay. Right.”

Cate doesn’t know what Dana can be dismissing from a hundred feet off, but it’s a conversation she hasn’t time for. She pulls up her hood, clears her throat, and starts walking. She half-turns once, to hold a hand up to Dana. A waveless good-bye. As though they are just a couple of regulars at the dog beach. Sailor follows Cate. When they get up to the patch of grass that overlooks the beach, he ambles off a little way.

“Hey,” Cate says.

“One of your beach buddies?” Maureen says.